


The Shadow

by WisteriaUrs



Series: The Shadow [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Canon Divergence - Post-Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Canonical Character Death, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Hogwarts, Neglect, Non-Canon Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-10-27
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:40:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 21
Words: 81,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26306476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WisteriaUrs/pseuds/WisteriaUrs
Summary: The Diggory family has one shining star: Cedric, the golden boy. Cedric has grown up beloved, put on a pedestal by his adoring parents, and flourished into a healthy, happy, and talented boy.His younger sister, Logan, never got quite so lucky. Logan Diggory begins her journey at Hogwarts living in her older brother's shadow; a shadow so dark that hardly anyone sees her...That is, until she captures the attention of Draco Malfoy. Fighting for the respect and recognition they both crave, Logan and Draco will find that the person they compete with most is the person that may know them best.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Harry Potter/Original Female Character(s)
Series: The Shadow [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1911352
Comments: 83
Kudos: 200





	1. The Disappointment

The story of my birth begins with disappointment. That is what I've been told, but the story is punctuated with jokes and laughter as if to soften the blow. When my mother was pregnant with me, (a surprise, both my parents believed they had passed the age of child-bearing then), they believed I was to be a boy. A playmate, for my older brother, Cedric. My mother had refused to take the family Witches' Brew recipe, passed down from her mother and her mother's mother, that would have allowed her to dream of me and know the sex. My mother and father knew, from the moment my mother realized she was pregnant, that I was to be a boy.

Unfortunately, when I was born on one particularly cold November evening, even the darkness outside St. Mungo's couldn't hide the fact that I was a girl. Seven pounds of squalling, fist-waving disappointment.

 _But,_ my father had objected, quite stunned, _we'd only thought of boy names._

 _Who says she can't bear any sort of name?_ The healer had asked him.

 _Logan, then._ My mother had decided, and apparently, my father had grunted in agreement. She'd allowed Ced to give me my middle name, though she veto'ed his first choice of "poo"—though at age 3, not sure what else she'd expected from him.

Logan Jane Diggory, they'd inscribed on my birth certificate. A blot of ink had left a splotch near the end of my name, the first sign that I'd be a blot for my family, too.

*

This isn't to say my parents didn't love me, or that I grew up being starved or beaten or otherwise horribly treated. Not at all. But as I began to grow, I came to realize that I was simply _there._ I lived in the same house as my brother, shared the same surname, ate the same breakfast, played the same games. I had inherited some of the same traits as my brother, too—same grey eyes, same sandy colored hair. But even as I tottered in his wake, it was made apparent that I was not the same.

Cedric was special, my father was convinced of that. Even if he hadn't been, I believe that my father ensured it. They watched over him like a bud on a fragile branch, ready to waver and drop off at any moment, but also ready to bloom. As a child, I remember hearing his praise, over and over.

_Cedric is fast, don't you think? We should get him a broom. He will be seeker one day._

_Ced, can you help sort out the potions ingredients? You know your slugs from flobberworms._

_He's getting so handsome, isn't he, Amos?_

I didn't get the same praise. It was like Cedric invented every action, every possible movement. My own overtures at such things were dismissed or, on the rare occasion, drew some disinterested accolade.

_Oh, Logan, you took the broom out? You scored on your brother, did you? Well done. Did you put it back in the barn and lock it up? You can be so forgetful._

Once, when my parents had friends over for dinner, I stayed up late with Cedric. We sat on the top stair and let out legs stretch out as we eavesdropped on the adults. He'd been reluctant to eavesdrop at all, but gave in at my persistent prodding. I liked to listen to the ways adults spoke—a reminder that one day, I'd be an adult too, living in my own house with my own friends and family far away from here.

 _Cedric starts school soon, doesn't he?_ Someone asked. I heard the deep gurgle of the wine bottle as someone poured more.

 _It's his second year,_ my father corrected. His speech was slightly slurred. _Top grades, but we're hoping he'll go out for Quidditch, too._

 _He's a very talented boy,_ someone agreed.

Ced was the color of a beet.

_Your daughter begins next year, then?_

_We'll see_ , my father input.

_Oh, she's not...?_

_She's not a squib,_ my mother corrected, laughing. I could hear nerves in her throat. Cedric tugged at my arm, but I swatted him away and pressed an ear up against the bannister. Something in my gut told me to leave, but some morbid curiosity kept me grounded.

_Might as well be._

_Amos,_ my mother scolded. _That's enough._

 _I kid, I kid._ I could almost see my father when he spoke; ruddy cheeks reddened from liquor and a full meal. His eyes would gleam slightly from his own enjoyment of his brand of humor. _She's just...a bit behind, that's all. Developmentally._

 _Logan is?_ Someone asked. _She can produce...well, she can act on her magic, can't she?_

 _Of course she can,_ my mother interrupted. _We just...Cedric was very developed, very early on. Advanced. Logan is where she needs to be for her age._

 _That's what's important,_ one of the guests said.

 _It's all we can ask for,_ my father laughed. _The product of too much merlot, y'know. One mistake and--_

 _Amos!_ My mother said, again, but there was some polite laughter.

My cheeks burned with humiliation. My eyes pricked with tears. Mistake, mistake, mistake. I leaned back from the railing. Gently, Cedric put an arm around my shoulders and guided me up, tactfully handing me a tissue, but refusing to embarrass me when I tried to stifle a sob.

*

Some part of me, deeply, wanted to hate my brother for this. Sometimes, in truthful moments, I did. He was too talented, too handsome, too smart, but infuriatingly, far too kind. Ced was the one who noticed my magic first; when I blew large pink spit bubbles as a toddler, he screamed for my mum until she came running. He educated me in music; allowed me to listen to Spellbound and The Bent-Winged Snitches on the wireless in his room. When I got my Hogwarts letter, he was the one who hugged me first, smiling into my hair even though, at age thirteen, it was majorly embarrassing for him to acknowledge his younger sister at all.

But the truth of the matter was, in the truest way, that Cedric was my best friend. When the rest of my world seemed ambivalent to my existence, he wasn't.

*

September 1, 1991, arrived more crisp and promising than any day of my life. I had woken early, too early to fall back asleep, and had dressed in my new robes. They still smelled of the posh store in Diagon Alley, where my mother had clucked her tongue at some of the prices, but bought me the set anyhow. I folded up my Hogwarts letter and put it in my breast pocket, as if they'd ask for my admission on the Hogwarts Express. I took up my wand in my hand and looked in the mirror. 13 inches, holly, dragon heart string, unyielding. I raised it above my head, studied myself. Then I changed positions, pointing it out in front of me, as if to duel. I was so intently focused on my reflection that I didn't notice Cedric, peeping through the open door with an amused smile on his face.

"Your spells may be more powerful if you put your weight on your back foot," he said suddenly, and I turned on the spot, caught between annoyance and gratefulness. "A longer energy flow will outstretch through the wand."

"Oh. Right."

"Are you nervous?"

"No," I replied immediately. "Some. Nervous excited."

"That's good. If you weren't nervous, you wouldn't appreciate the journey ahead of you."

"Well, I..." I pocketed my wand. "Ced? How'd you...how'd you...I can be shy. You're not shy."

"Make friends?" He raised an eyebrow. "You're not always shy. I've seen you talk to the Weasley kids. I think Ron starts this year, too. Why don't you talk to everyone as if they're Ron Weasley?"

"But that's different."

The Weasleys lived in the same village, the father worked for the Ministry alongside our parents. We'd bumped into them, our mothers had even forced us to play together when we were smaller. But it was a loose sort of friendship, if that was even the right word. There was no close childhood bond.

"I'm going to let you in on a secret. It is near impossible to avoid making friends. It just...happens. There's nothing I can really tell you but to be yourself. You get on the train or get sorted, and it just falls into place. Like everyone's been waiting for you, I guess."

Silently, I noted that it was easy for Cedric to say this—universal adoration had probably never made him feel alienated in his life.

"But you know, I'm there. And all my friends are your friends, too. John Wood, Ken Towler. Cho Chang. No one is going to hate you, Logan."

"Right, of course." I felt awash with gratitude. I looked at him, leaning tall against the frame of my door. I felt a quite strong instinct to hug him, but instead mustered up a sarcastic eye roll. "God, you're infuriating. You know that?"

"Am I?"

"Yes. No one else is so...just so likable."

Cedric grinned.

"It's a burden."

I kept Cedric's words close to my chest as we approached the train. Even in all it's great, shiny glory, nothing was more interesting than the people that surrounded us. I had never seen so many people before, and never so many that were my age. As my family maneuvered through the crowd, with trunks and pets in tow, I watched as Cedric bashfully waved to a pretty girl with dark hair, and clapped hands with a tall, lanky boy that was nearly as handsome as he was. My father's chest was bursting with Cedric's easy recognition, but it couldn't bother me on that day. I had to remind myself not to walk around, slack jawed, as I peered at my fellow classmates.

"Excuse me," I heard someone say, and I felt a bump over the edge of my trolley. And then, more forcefully. "Watch it, will you?"

I peered around the side of my trolley cart, and with a wince, noticed that I'd run over someone's foot. A boy no taller than I was—with a pointed face and shockingly white blonde hair, swept up his robes away from the wheels of my cart and glared at me.

"Do you need glasses?" He asked.

"I—no I do not." I drew myself up slightly, found myself anxiously looking out as Cedric drew further and further away. "I'm sorry I ran over your foot."

The boy sneered. It was quite puzzling, this sneer of his. I could see that his eyes dramatically narrowed, as if he were hamming it up for effect. He looked from me to my trunk, and then back to me again.

"Diggory, is it?"

"Yes, hi." I moved forward, extending a hand. I could hear Ced's words ringing in my ears. _No one is going to hate you, Logan. It just falls into place._ "Logan Diggory. And you are?"

The boy's sneer intensified. His upper lip nearly quivered as it stretched across his thin face. He glanced at my hand, outstretched, but didn't take it. Slowly, I let it fall back to my side.

"You'll know soon enough, I'd bet."

"Draco?" A tall, slim man with the same white-blonde hair parted through the crowd. In his wake was a rather elegant looking woman who sported a slim-cutting white dress. They both paused when they saw me, as if they couldn't quite place me here, next to (presumably) their son. The man glanced down at my trunk and sneered (oh yes, absolutely their son, that resemblance was just uncanny). "Diggory?"

"Lucius." My father had fallen back to find me, looking rather displeased at it all. He stepped forward and put a hand on my shoulder, though I took it not as a sign of protection or pride, but as if he wanted to usher me away quite swiftly. The boy, Draco, had fallen quiet now, but he glanced at me with a narrowed eye, as if waiting to speak. "This is my daughter."

"I didn't know you had a daughter. Thought your only child was that son of yours."

"Yes, well." My father cleared his throat and tightened his grip on my shoulder, preparing to propel me away from this conversation. "Logan is younger. Just starting."

"Another Hufflepuff in the family, presumably." The man's smirk widened. I glanced up at him, and then at his wife, and then his son. The family trait was quite obvious—that smirk with the curled lip. But it was quite shame, I noted to myself. They were all quite handsome in appearance—long necked and fingered, thin, creamy colored skin and that irresistibly interesting shade of blonde.

"Well, I don't—" my father began.

"No one knows, isn't that right?" I couldn't help myself from speaking. The man looked down at me as if an irksome fly had landed on his wrist. There was some withering light in his eyes that quite made me want to shrink down, but I dug my feet into the ground. "Isn't the entire point that the sorting hat only knows where you'll be?"

"My my," the man drawled. I glanced up at my father, who had turned a bit ruddier. I heard a small scoff from Draco, but when I turned my glance onto him, there was no trace of amusement in his face. He set his jaw and lifted it in the air. "What an interesting child, Amos. So...different...than the other."

"Come, Logan." My father began to push me forward, towards the train. I brushed by Draco, catching a whiff of him; his scent was impeccably crisp—green apple and peppermint. My father handed me the cat's cage that balanced on top of my trunk; Merlin mewed widely and I held the cage tightly as my father steered me away from the blonde family on the platform. I looked back, only once, to see that Draco's eyes followed me as I went; his brow worked into a deep furrow, and I turned away, feeling the inexplicable and foreign rush of anger and embarrassment. 


	2. The Sorting

Cedric and his friends had clambered onto the train, pulling me in with bright enthusiasm that made my cheeks tinge pink with pleased embarrassment. They all piled into one compartment, looking quite pleased with themselves as they decided on a nickname for me. Cedric took it upon himself to hoist his friend's trunks up onto the metal shelves above the seats, and I watched as one of the girls in his group grew pink as she watched him labor.

"Little Diggory?" John Wood proposed, his Scottish accent so thick that I almost didn't recognize my own last name. He offered me a warm smile and a wink.

"That could work," Patty Stimpson said. She was quite tall, nearly as tall as Ced, and had a mass of beaded braids that hung down her back. She looked down at me with a kind smile. "You look like your brother. Little Cedric."

"I'm not a little Cedric," I protested. "We look quite different, don't we, Cedric?"

"Logan's her own person," he agreed, pausing to wipe his forehead with the bottom of his shirt. The pink-faced girl in the compartment avoided glancing at him, but turned a shade of pink darker. He reached out for Merlin's cage and flexed his fingers. "Come on, I'll put her up."

I glanced down the hall. I could see a boy my age, trunk in hand, heading down to the next car. He was constantly pushed his dark black hair down, trying to flatten it. He hadn't found a compartment either.

"Erm, I don't think so." Ced dropped his hands, but raised a brow. As if he were asking: you sure about this? I nodded back. _No one will hate you, Logan._ Of course, the spiteful tone of Draco rung in my ears, but it seemed rather improbable that all of my classmates would fill me with a similar sense of defensiveness.

"Yes, I think I should find some of my year, shouldn't I?" I looked into their compartment, all filled with Hufflepuff robes, and felt, suddenly, quite pigeonholed.

I moved down the compartments then, beginning up near the front of the train and working my way back. I'd just passed the very middle car when the train lurched into movement. I grabbed the first door handle, steadying myself as I heard the piercing whistle as the train began to chug along, picking up speed. The door slid open, and I found myself staring at the Draco.

"You again?" He asked, looking me up and down. He sat with two boys who looked to be the size of small boulders, the pair of them. They blinked at me, dully, and I directed my attention back to Draco. His mouth seemed to be in a permanent snarl, but his pearly teeth gleamed.

"Not again," I corrected. I again felt that foreign rush of annoyance. "I didn't mean to open this door."

"Well, good. We didn't extend an invite."

"I didn't ask for one."

Something in the Draco's eyes flickered. Like a flame bursting to life. He opened his mouth to speak, again, but I shut the compartment door before he could. I felt a small tingle of pleasure as I noted the frown that crossed his mouth; I'd stolen the last word.

"Hey, excuse me?" Another voice, small and tentative, female, spoke from behind me. A girl with thick, blonde braids that hung down past her shoulders stuck her head out of her compartment. When she caught my eye, she smiled, then beckoned towards me. "If you need a place to sit, we have some seats."

"I do, actually." I smiled reflexively in return. The girl held the door quite wide for me, revealing another girl who already sat in the compartment. The other girl was quite pale, with dark eyes and raven's wing colored hair. When the girl saw me approach, she reached out with a long, delicate hand.

"I'm Daphne Greengrass," the dark-haired girl introduced herself.

"And I'm Hannah Abbot," the fair-haired girl said.

"Nice to meet you." I shook both of their hands in return. "I'm Logan Diggory."

"It's good you're here, Logan," Daphne said, sitting down cross-legged on the compartment seat. "We're a person down in here."

"Our original seatmate, Neville, lost his toad." Hannah explained, taking the opposite bench. I sunk down next to her, crossing my ankles. I hadn't even noticed, but the landscape had begun to whiz by, greens and browns and greys whipping away into the wind with the rustling tree branches outside. "He's on a mission to find him."

"Two sickles says he doesn't," Daphne bet, with a rather wicked smile.

"Oh, don't say that. He's quite nice."

I glanced up at the rack above Daphne's head, noting her plum colored trunk. Either she and Hannah had also brought along their cat, sleeping peacefully in the crate...the paw carefully holding a toad pressed down against the bottom of the crate. The toad blinked, twice, it's large, bulbous throat pulsing.

"Wouldn't happen to be that toad, there, would it?" I asked, pointing to the crate.

"Disgusting," Daphne squealed, reeling backwards as she realized it was above her head.

"Oh no," Hannah exclaimed, shaking her own head. She climbed onto her seat and leaned forward, coaxing the toad out into her hand with careful words. "Come on, Trevor. Come on. It is good you're here, Logan. We needed someone else. We wouldn't have noticed, otherwise."

And just like that, as Cedric had promised, I made friends.

*

I felt that any description of Hogwarts had done it a disservice, upon the first time I saw it. We first years were ushered into small rowboats upon getting off the train, shuffling into the boats while being careful not to knock them about. The boy who'd lost his toad, Neville, immediately fell into the lake. I sank down into the same boat as a girl with very bushy hair and large front teeth, who seemed quite incapable of staying quiet at all.

"Did you know there are at least sixty different annexes in the Hogwarts library?" She asked, before I could even ask for her name. Her teeth had begun to chatter from the chill that swept over the dark, still, lake, but she continued to speak. "It's rumored, however, that there are about thirty more, hidden from plain view. Enchanted or something of the like. Did you know that?"

"I did not, no." I glanced over to see Daphne and Hannah in the boat next to mine. Hannah looked rather sea sick, whereas Daphne grinned at me, sticking a brave finger into the water below us.

"Uh, you might not want to do that," the bushy-haired girl admonished her.

"And why's that?"

"The Hogwarts lake is home to many creatures, some aren't that friendly. Selkies, sirens. Grindylows."

The bushy haired girl continued to speak as if she were a living lexicon. I saw Daphne grimace, but she carefully put both her hands in her lap as we continued to cut through the lake. I tuned out the whispers and fact-telling around me, and that's when I saw it.

Up ahead, clearly visible in the dark, was the Hogwarts castle. I couldn't believe it. It seemed that the whole thing was a curiously beautiful jumble of turrets and stone and windows. I heard a gasp and a whisper amongst my classmates, who similarly fell quiet. Even my seatmate grew quiet as we drew closer. There was almost a magnetism in the air, like someone was beckoning me forward. I found myself sitting forward, leaning into the wind, my eyes searching every bit of the castle I could see. Cedric had been right, of course. Something told me that this was home.

We touched down on shore, all the boats lining up in a neatly enchanted row. The large groundskeeper who'd introduced himself as Hagrid—undoubtedly half giant—ushered us up a slick, narrow path of stairs that lead towards the castle. I could see, as I fell into step alongside Hannah, the bright blonde hair of Draco, a few persons ahead, leading the way inside. He snickered quite unkindly as someone slipped on the stairs. Finally, after my legs had begun to burn from the strain of the stairs, we were let inside the castle.

There was a warmth that fell over us nearly at once, though I was quite sure I heard the whistle of a draft. I glanced up to see vaulted ceilings that seemed to rise far above the sky, nearly bumping into a suit of armor that flanked the door. It jumped back, and I started, grinning hastily as it saluted me before returning to post. I had just begun to peek towards the Great Hall, where I could hear the older students laughing and chatting and moving about, when I heard a small commotion amongst ourselves.

"It's true then, what they were saying on the train?" I heard someone say. I revolved on the spot to see Draco holding court, the smirk on his face widening. He had his glance fixed on the slight boy with messy hair I'd seen on the train. "Harry Potter has come to Hogwarts."

Like a match had been struck, I heard the rustling of whispers. _Harry Potter,_ people whispered, as if they couldn't believe it. Hannah looked as if she'd faint. I peaked around the shoulder of the very tall boy in front of me. Harry Potter, at Hogwarts! I searched his bespeckled face for the scar people spoke of. _The mark of the dark lord lives on that boy_ , I'd heard my father say once. But all I could see were thick-framed glasses set upon a skinny nose, and a crimson color rising on his cheeks.

"This is Crabbe, and Goyle," he continued, nodding towards the boulders that flanked his sides. "And I'm Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."

He said his name with obvious pride. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of my brain, I felt something stir. A memory. _Malfoy._ It sounded quite familiar, but I couldn't place it. Whatever it was that I knew, I was brought back into the present by the loud, humbling snort that a red-haired boy let out. With a start, I realized Ron Weasley stood by Harry Potter's side, looking at Draco quite defiantly.

"Think my name is funny, do you?" Draco turned his attention onto the boy like a dog smelling blood. "No need to ask yours. Red hair and a hand-me-down robe. You must be a Weasley." Ron's ears, I could see even from here, turned the most brilliant shade of red. "You'll soon find out that some Wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."

He extended a hand. I felt a tug in my gut, even as I stood on the spot. His hand, extended out in the air. An offer of a friendship. Like the one I'd offered him at King's Cross. Harry glanced down at Draco's hand, and then put both his own hands in his pockets.

"I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks."

There was an unmistakable chilliness to his words. There was a quick renewal of whispers and hushed voices that overtook us. I watched as Harry moved away, but then my eyes flicked back to Draco. He ran a hand, the one that had been extended, over his slicked back hair. He moved his eyes up, facing absolutely front, as if he couldn't see the rest of us around him, like his ego hadn't just been bruised. But there, I could see that his eye twitched, and he shook his head just slightly. And I felt, suddenly, like I was sitting back on that stair the night my father had called me a mistake; very small and alone.

"Logan," Daphne said sharply, tapping me on the shoulder. "We're going inside now."

When she called my name, he caught my eye. I realized, with a small start, that his eyes were like mine—grey. But then he looked away, and murmured something to his cronies that made them look at me and begin to laugh. The ounce of sympathy I'd had in that moment disappeared, and I fell into line with Daphne.

*

Cedric had told me about the sorting ceremony, but I'd been hard pressed to believe him.

 _You're telling me,_ I'd repeated in disbelief. _That a dirty old hat tells you what house you're going to be in._

_Yes._

_And that's where you live forever?_

_Well, as long as you're at school._

But even as he'd told me that I never could really quite grasp it. It seemed quite silly to me, letting a hat decide where you'd live and sleep for so many years. It seemed even sillier now, seeing it on the stool at the front of the hall. I regarded it with apprehension, noting the patches and years of dirt that seemed to turn it even a muddier brown than I'd expected.

"That's it?" I heard the bushy hair girl exclaim, fear climbing into her tone.

I turned on the spot, searching over the Great Hall. At the table filled with golden-crested robes, I could see Cedric, peering for me as I was doing for him. He half-stood at the bench and waved, smiling brightly. As if to reassure me.

Before me, there had been Cedric. And before Cedric, my parents, and their parents, my great-grandparents. All Hogwarts attendees, as far back as we could possibly trace (although, my mother had some American cousins). Almost all Diggorys had been placed in Hufflepuff, except for the occasional Gryffindor. But there hadn't been a Diggory to break rank in over sixty years.

"Who's that?" Hannah asked, and Daphne turned to look at Cedric as well.

"My brother."

"He's rather fit, isn't he?" Daphne asked, and Hannah dissolved into a fit of giggles.

"Eyes on the hat," I replied, as Cedric sunk back into his seat.

Remarkably, the brim of the hat opened wide, into the shape of a mouth, and it began to sing. I saw a few jaws hinge open, and I felt the urge to giggle myself. It swayed on the stool as if it meant to dance, and I could see a few boys sway in return, almost mockingly. At the end of its song, everyone applauded, before a woman with a hard line for a mouth and prim looking glasses stood next to the stool. She unfurled a roll of parchment and took a hard look at it.

"Now, when I call your name, please step forward to the stool and try on the hat." She glanced at the parchment once more.

"Abbott, Hannah."

Hannah turned a rather yellow shade of nerves, but moved forwards anyway. She ducked under the waiting hat, sat on the stool, and closed her eyes. The hat hadn't even fully touched her head before shouting "Hufflepuff!"

I clapped as I watched her sprint off the stool, blushing with pride as she did so. She ran by me and Daphne, pausing only to high-five Daphne as she went. She took a seat at the Hufflepuff table, looking quite assured as she was clapped on the back and congratulated by the others.

"One down," Daphne whispered. "Think you'll be sitting by her?"

"Of course," I replied, looking over my shoulder. Cedric had gotten up to shake Hannah's hand. "Where else would I be?"

And so it went, from Boot to Brocklehurst to Brown to Bullstrode...until, suddenly:

"Diggory, Logan!"

There was a rather loud whoop from the Hufflepuff table that I knew, even without turning around, belonged to Cedric. A smattering of giggles bubbled up around me, and I slid forward, brushing by Harry Potter as I did so.

"Excuse me," I murmured, and he stood aside, smiling quite politely as he did so. I made my way up the stairs, locking my eyes on the Sorting Hat. I could hear it screaming my house now. _Hufflepuff_! My mum would send me a yellow sweater, but would remind me that the color would wash me out. My father would tell my brother to keep an eye on me. Cedric would allow me to watch Quidditch practices and let me sit with him and his friends in the common room. Like every Diggory before us, and all the ones that would follow.

I took a seat on the stool, and the stern-looking Professor lowered the hat onto my head.

I felt, suddenly, as if a hand was pushing inside my skull and rummaging around in my brain. It wasn't uncomfortable, necessarily, but I gulped at the violation nonetheless. A voice spoke, echoing inside of my skull.

_Another Diggory! How pleasant. What a surprise. You have many of the traits your brother has, but it seems...the flipside of the coin, perhaps. Your honesty is biting, whereas his is built on kindness. You strive for greatness, but...it's out of desperation, isn't it, child? You want to be seen. You want kinship that is your own. Overshadowed, yes. But not for good reason. You are entirely special on your own. Greatness will become you, but not if you stay in that shadow. I know just the place for you._

"Slytherin!"

I opened my eyes, felt my stomach drop. My heart audibly skipped a beat. There was loud applause and cheers from the table on the far right, furthest from Cedric. I saw him look around, bewildered. Hannah, too, looked taken aback. I searched the student crowd for Daphne, but instead found myself locking eyes with Draco Malfoy. He rolled his eyes into the back of his head, and I looked up at the Professor.

"Go on, then," she said, not unkindly.

Truly, for the first time, I was not just on my own. I was my own.


	3. Desperation

"Go on, Miss Diggory." I heard the Professor's words swimming in my ears, and I got to my feet. A bit startled and unsteady, I stepped down from the stool a bit quickly, and it wobbled. Millicent Bullstrode and the boy named Crabbe were already sitting down. I took a seat next to Millicent, avoiding Crabbe's dull, unmoving eyes. A few of the second years leaned forward to offer reserved congratulations. I smiled in return, still feeling as if something, or someone, had probed into the recesses of my brain I'd tried to hide.

Although I'd known of the sorting hat and the probability I'd be placed somewhere other than Hufflepuff, the odds had never seemed great. No one in the Diggory family had _ever_ been placed in Slytherin. Yes, I'd known there was a _chance,_ as I'd even suggested to Draco's father, but it never seemed...real.

The sorting hat's words rattled in my brain like a loose coin.

_It's desperation, isn't it? You want to be seen._

The hat had taken my brain, unspooled it like thread. Found that little bit of myself I hated, even feared. The part of my brain that knew my parents didn't love me like Cedric. That I'd never measure up.

_You want to be seen._

I wanted to deny it, march back up to that stupid hat and tell it that it didn't know anything. But it did, of course. For a moment, I wondered if it had held back on the other things it had seen, learned about me. If it had kept quiet about the other things.

_You want to be seen loved._

"Logan?" I looked up to see Daphne climbing onto the beach next to me, looking happily flushed. "Everything alright in there?" She rapped smartly on the crown of my head with a knuckle, and I forced a smile.

"Yes, yes, thank god you're here too."

The sorting didn't stop.

_Goyle! Slytherin._

_Hopkins! Hufflepuff._

_Longbottom! Gryffindor._

"Did...did you feel the hat?" I broached Daphne, after a few moments. I put a hand to my head. "Like it was...looking for something in your brain?"

"No," she shrugged. "I mean, it spoke to me, but only for a moment before—"

"Malfoy, Draco!" the Professor called.

He was infuriatingly smug looking as he swaggered up towards the platform. I could see, at the next table, some of the Ravenclaws whispering amongst themselves. None of them seemed to like the mention of his name.

"Malfoy?" Daphne murmured. "Really."

"You know him?" I asked, watching as he smoothed back his hair before taking a seat. The hat didn't even touch his head before it declared, very loudly, _Slytherin!_ "His name sounded familiar to me, too."

"It should. His family is really powerful, very dark." Daphne leaned in a bit closer and lowered her tone. "My mum says they all supported you-know-who. Death Eaters."

A chill ran up my spine. There were always those rumors about Slytherin. The dark ones, drawn towards dark magic.

"Death Eaters?" I repeated, curiously.

"Yes, and very important ones, too."

Draco swept over towards our table, as the older students pounded on the tabletops with their fists and cheered. He wore, for the first time I'd seen, a genuine smile. That is, until he reached the table and realized he'd be sitting at the end.

"Shove down," he commanded Goyle with annoyance, before neatly sliding into place between him and Crabbe. He kicked out his feet at once, catching his shoe against my shin. As if he hadn't seen me sitting there before, he frowned deeply, exhaling a deep huff.

"What is it with you, Diggory? You're always in the way."

"You kicked me," I corrected, immediately, leaning down to rub my smarting shin. "What's your problem, Malfoy? We're in the same house, can't we just—"

"Don't act like being in the same house means we can be friends." The ever-present sneer grew wider. "That's what you were going to say, isn't it? Be friends? Looks like the hat made a mistake on this one, didn't it?"

Crabbe and Goyle chuckled dully. I felt the buzz of the sorting hat's words in my ears again. _You want to be seen._ Seen, yes. Recognized, yes. Validated? Sure. But not seen like this, not spoken to like this. Venom crossed his every word, and he raised his brows in amusement when I didn't immediately respond. That little bubbling bit of anger I had been nurturing since the moment I met him flowed over. I hadn't grown up with an older brother for nothing—I knew what buttons to press when the time was right.

"You're not really in any position to be turning down friends, are you?" I asked. "We all saw Potter turn you down out there. I thought the snot dribble from your tears was going to stain your robes. In fact, if I'm not mistaken, I see some right there..."

I pointed to his robes for effect. Both Crabbe and Goyle looked, searching for the stain that didn't exist.

"Doesn't sound like the hat made a mistake now, does it, Malfoy?" Daphne followed up, looking between the pair of us.

Draco's narrowed eyes ran across me. I could feel the heat in his gaze, his mortification from being humiliated twice in the evening. Like I'd pressed on a raw nerve.

"Watch it, Diggory. Don't get in my way again."

There was a moment, then, when he stared at me and I stared back. I could feel those around us watching the pair of us with unfettered curiosity. His eyes were steely and cool, but with a flinch, I noticed that the irises were surrounded by a small golden halo. I broke the gaze first, looking up towards the stage where _Potter, Harry_ was about to be sorted.

"Likewise," I replied.

*

Our Prefect lead us down to the Dungeons after dinner. It was colder down here, and noticeably darker, despite the torches that stood in every hallway. Daphne stood by my side as we trailed down after the rest of the first years, whispering to me when Flint wasn't looking at us.

"You know him, Malfoy?"

"We just...bumped into each other at the Platform."

"What did you do to make him so mad?"

"When I say I bumped into him, I mean quite literally. I ran over his foot with my trolley."

"On purpose?"

"No!"

"I mean, I'd understand it." She sniffled as she looked at the back of his head. "He's a prick, isn't he?"

"Well, yes, yes he is." I folded my arms and shivered as we passed by a ghost that looked down at us rather blankly, with blood stains covering his silvery tunic. "But I don't think it will be a problem, think we'll avoid each other quite easily."

"Girls in the back," Flint shouted, quite suddenly, and we fell silent. Daphne stifled a small laugh, her shoulders shaking. "I'm not going to repeat myself here, so I'd suggest you listen unless you want to sleep outside tonight. You see this wall, here? This is the entrance to the common room and your dormitories. You face this wall and you say the password. The password now, for instance, is Lochs."

At the mere mention of the word, the wall seemed to break and split wide open. We shuffled inside at once, and I felt a small gasp escape my body. The common room was bathed in a greenish silver light, but reminded me of the light that filtered in through rain. There was a large fire roaring in an elegant hearth, and black leather couches and chairs scattered strategically throughout the large, circular room. Older students lounged near the fire playing Wizard's Chess on marble boards. Against the far wall were large, arching windows that seemed to form a dome over our heads. We were _under_ the lake. As I watched, I could see the swaying of kelp and sea grass brush the windows, in the distance I saw a Giant Squid float by.

"It's beautiful," I heard myself say.

"You don't think we're going to get seasick, do you?" Daphne asked, tugging on my arm. "Let's go see the dormitory, shall we?"

The girls dormitory was up a sweeping staircase that veered off, sharply, from the boy's dormitory. The dormitory sported high ceilings and large windows with elegant, long emerald curtains. There were five four poster beds in the room, and to my surprise, I found that my trunk had been left at the foot of the bed closest to the white-marble fireplace near the door. Merlin was curled up on the silver-threaded comforter already, purring contentedly. Daphne grinned as she sunk down onto the bed next to me, and looked out the window. The swishing of the water was quite calming.

"When do you think we'll get our schedules?" She asked, and I curled up on my side, pulling Merlin into my chest. The bedding was soft and silken to the touch.

"Soon," I said, dreamily, closing my eyes.

And before I could even stop it, sleep took over.

*

I woke, quite rudely, to the sound of knocking on the door. Someone in the room groaned loudly, and I heard an expletive muttered aloud. I stumbled to my feet, rubbing my eyes. I'd fallen asleep in my robes, which were horribly creased. I pulled open the door to the Dormitory to find Flint standing there, looking quite stern.

"Diggory?" He asked, revealing a set of rather mangled teeth.

"Yeah, that's me?" I felt something in my stomach flip. Maybe there had been a mistake. Maybe the hat had gone back on its word. Maybe—

"Your brother is here to see you. We can't let him inside, obviously. He's been standing out in the dungeon harassing people on their way to breakfast. Take care of it, please."

"Cedric?" I asked dumbly, still wiping sleep from my eyes.

"Do you have another brother, too?" Flint sneered. "Go on, please."

Sure enough, Cedric was lingering in the Dungeon, around the corner from the entrance to the common room. He wore a smile, and nodded politely towards some of the students that crossed his path, but I could see a little fold between his brows as I walked outside—like he'd been worrying.

"Hey," he began, but didn't get a chance to say another word. I hugged him quite tightly, and he put a hand reassuringly on my back. For a moment, he just let me hug him, and I breathed in the scent of my brother—warm laundry and soap.

"Sorry," I said, my voice muffled against his robes. I drew back and crossed my arms. "I just feel like I haven't seen you in years or something."

"The first day is exhausting. Are you okay? I...when you were sorted, I didn't know if you'd be okay or not."

"It was a surprise," I admitted. "I thought...I just assumed really, that I'd be in Hufflepuff. Like you."

"I did too. But I mean...doesn't it make some sense?" He smiled reassuringly. "You're cleverer than I am. Resourceful. You love quite hard, I think that falls in the kinship thing the Sorting Hat was talking about."

"Ced." I lowered my voice. "The thing that people say about Slytherins. That it's...dark wizards. Bad wizards. Is it...it can't always be true, can it?"

Cedric paused for a moment before answering. I could see him chewing his words, as if deciding what to say.

"I don't think it's a requirement that you be a bad wizard to be put in Slytherin. And I don't think it cranks out all bad wizards either. I think that there are some people who are drawn to the traits that just...push things. Ambition isn't bad, until you act on it like...well, like you-know-who did. It's more about how _you_ choose to act than anyone else."

I exhaled a deep gust of breath that I didn't know I was holding.

"Just, you know, as long as you're making friends who are alright. That's important too."

"One or two. But you were wrong, by the way." I arched an eyebrow and nodded towards the entrance to the common room. "Someone does hate me. Malfoy. Not quite sure what I did to get him so hot under the collar, really. I tried to offer him an olive branch last night, at dinner, but he—"

"Malfoy?" Cedric asked, his voice dropping an octave. "No, no. When I say that there are Slytherins who have acted on the bad traits..."

"His family, I know. But he's just started here, like I have. How can we even know...?"

"I know what I just said. But listen to me, Logan. Some people are brought up with views and biases that don't change. That family is pureblood, like us. But they think they're better than muggleborns because of it. Nothing is going to change the fact that Malfoy was probably raised as a pompous bully who thinks more highly of himself than others. I think he's selfish to the point that it borders on danger, Logan. That's what people mean when they talk badly of Slytherin. They just see that."

"Okay, yes. You're right. He's just a little...a prick, I suppose." I thought of the way that he'd lowered his hand when Harry hadn't accepted it. How his jaw jutted out a little from bruised pride. But my shin still smarted a bit, and so I pushed the image aside. It wasn't worth defending him. "I'm fine, Cedric. Really, I am."

"Breakfast, then?" He asked, puffing up his chest. "We'd love to have you join our table for a bit."

"That sounds nice, let me just run upstairs and put my hair up?"

I turned, quickly taking the corner, and nearly ran into Draco Malfoy.

"God," I muttered, side-stepping him. "You think I'm always in the way? You're just standing in the hallway."

He didn't respond, but leaned against the wall instead, averting his eyes as if he hadn't heard me. It wasn't until I'd reached my room and begun to rifle through my trunk for a scrunchie that I realized—he hadn't just been standing there. He'd heard every word I said, every word Cedric said. I nearly groaned aloud. I didn't like him, he didn't like me, but the thought of him _hearing_ what I'd called him made my stomach bubble uncomfortably. There was some part of me that was stricken by guilt for speaking about him, though I couldn't quite place why. I opened the door, dragging my feet as I did so. I'd apologize for what I'd said, what Cedric said. I began to take the stairs. But I didn't have to go far—Draco was walking up the stairs two at a time, heading back to his dormitory where the stairs converged.

"Hey, Malfoy," I said aloud, a note of desperation quivering on the last note.

But again, he didn't say a word. Instead, he walked right up the stairs to the boy's dormitory, only offering me a small glance as he passed. There was hatred in his eyes. No apology would fix that. I'd made my bed, and I was to lay in it. 


	4. Instinct

It was funny, how time at Hogwarts passed. It slipped through my fingers like I couldn’t even grasp it. Before I even knew it, the year had ended. And then another year went by, and another, until I was suddenly about to enter my fourth year. Cedric was entering his seventh and last.

“You’ll never guess what I’ve heard.” Our father burst through the front door. He was positively writhing with excitement, and nearly dropped his briefcase. Cedric and I sat at the dinner table; I shelled peas by hand while Cedric waved his wand, chopping carrots with a levitating knife. Our mother glanced up from the sink, where she’d charmed the dishes to wash themselves. “It’s back. The Triwizard tournament.”

“You can’t be serious,” my mother said, and both of them turned to look at Cedric.

“This year?” I asked. “The last one—"

“Was ages ago, yes.” My father took up a seat at the table. “You’re thinking of it, aren’t you son?”

I watched Cedric absorb this information, as well as the implicit expectation. It seemed so obvious, to my father, that Cedric would enter. That he’d claim his spot as the Hogwarts champion. Cedric rested his chin in the palm of his hand.

“I’ll have to think about it,” he said. But I knew what that meant. Cedric would enter. I could see it all reflected in his eyes—the glory, the skills he’d been building for years, his pride to represent our school. He’d be modest but cheered by the attention and ride it neatly into a Ministry job after he’d left the school.

“It’s so dangerous, Amos.” My mother put her hands on her hips. “I don’t think—”

“Ah, the boy can handle it, can’t you?”

“Yeah, mum,” I chimed in. Cedric looked up at me, his face breaking into a smile. “Cedric can handle it.”

*

Our father had managed to snag us tickets to the World Cup through work. I was surprised when he handed me the stub at dinner one night. He had, aloud, admitted that he didn’t know if I even liked Quidditch, (even though I'd talked of trying out for the team this year) but thought Cedric and I should see Ireland play. 

In the early morning the day that the Cup was to begin, we put on our hiking boots as the sun was just coming up. We crossed over the dew-crusted lawn and up the hill as the sun began to break through the clouds.

“Keep your eyes out,” my father warned the pair of us. I was beginning to come up on Cedric’s height, and could keep an even stride with the pair of them. “We’re looking for a boot, that’s our portkey.”

“Like that one?” Cedric asked, pointing a sure finger. On the next hill over was a rather manky looking old boot, standing quite alone. Almost as if clueing us in, I heard voices; the Weasley family had begun to approach the boot as well. Arthur waved to my father, who waved back cheerily. I noticed that Ron, Harry, and Hermione followed in Arthur’s wake.

“Hello, Weasley family!” My father shouted as we got closer, sounding quite cheery. Ron gave me a side glance of recognition, and Hermione gave me a small, polite nod. We hadn’t crossed paths at Hogwarts too much, despite being in the same year. I tended to stick with Daphne, and the three of them…well…it was nearly impossible to find them on their own. I was about to offer Harry a small nod of my own, when I heard my father say: “My god. You’re Harry Potter.”

I felt embarrassment heat up my cheeks as he seized Harry’s hand, pumping it up and down with enthusiasm.

“I’m Amos Diggory. Very pleased to meet you, Harry. Very pleased. You may know my son, Cedric. Think he beat you in Quidditch once or twice. Who’s the best, eh?” 

“Hi,” Harry said, sounding rather displeased. Cedric was red in the face as well, and he shook Harry’s hand graciously.

“Dad,” I heard him warn under his breath. “Stop. Harry, you know Logan, don’t you? She’s in your year.”

“Sure,” Harry said, turning his eyes onto me. I’d never stood quite so close to him before, I’d never had a reason to. But his eyes were the most magnificent shade of bottle green. He smiled, and I blinked quite hard, trying not to stare. “We have potions together, don’t we?”

“And Defense Against the Dark Arts,” I added.

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Logan.”

He stuck his hand out to shake. I moved forward to return, but Mr. Weasley suddenly tapped his watch with his wand, drawing everyone’s attention.

“It’s time. Everyone gather round the boot. One finger on the portkey now.”

“What?” Harry murmured, looking befuddled.

“A portkey,” I explained, bending to my knees. I nodded to him, and he followed suit. “You just touch the boot here, and at the time designated…well..you’ll see. It will transport us where we need to go.”

“This old boot?” He queried, with laughable confusion in his voice.

“Trust me, I thought it’d be different too.” I reached out and touched the heel with my finger. Harry knelt next to me, and hooked his finger over the edge of the heel. There was one moment where we all gathered in silence, sitting on the hill, before I felt my body lift up and yank, hard. I was spinning and spinning, and I could hear the whistling of the wind, strong, in my ears. And then someone was shouting to _let go_ , and I was falling, falling, crashing hard into the ground. My hands landed hard, breaking my fall, and my knees stung as the grass burned my skin.

“Here,” Cedric said, tugging me up by the elbow. He’d gracefully landed on his feet. He offered a hand to Harry, too, who’d fallen spread-eagled on his back. Harry took it, mumbling a good-natured thank you as he did so. On the horizon, I could see the rippling tops of the tents that lay before us—stretching as far as the eye could see, dripping in the colors of the Irish team. There were people everywhere, casting spells I’d never seen, speaking languages I’d never heard. Cedric put an arm out, keeping me from walking right into the path of someone riding an Abraxan into the camp.

“We’re this way!” My father directed us, shepherding us away from the Weasleys. “We’ll see you later, you lot.”

I turned to wave to them, but only caught Harry’s eye. He waved to me, looking rather overwhelmed, before he was swallowed up into the crowd.

*

“Unbelievable,” Hannah crowed at the top of her lungs, her face deeply flushed. She took a galleon from her pocket and slapped it down into my open, waiting palm. “I cannot believe Ireland took it. I thought with Krum, it was a surefire win for Bulgaria.”

“Ireland has a good team,” I argued. “One player doesn’t make a team, though Krum does come close.”

We trailed behind our parents, who merrily banded together to discuss the aftermath of the match as we walked back to the campsite. Cedric had disappeared hours before with his own friends, one of whom had invited him to visit their private box. Hannah, luckily, had tickets just next to ours, so I hadn’t been totally abandoned.

“I can’t believe the way Krum plays,” Hannah gushed, looking rather dreamy as she said it.

“I think you have a crush,” I teased, and she laughed.

“Who am I to deny it?”

I let the space between myself and my father grow, lowering my voice just enough so no one could hear.

“I’ve been dying to tell you, but I never got a chance to send you an owl. I have major news.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Apparently, according to my dad, the Triwizard—”

I heard a loud scream from somewhere in the campsite. Hannah and I halted, looking out for the source of it. It seemed as if only a few people around us had heard the scream. It had been loud, shrill. But there were large groups of people stumbling around, wrapped in the Irish flag, smelling of firewhiskey and singing quite off-key.

“Did you hear that?” Hannah asked, turning to look at me.

“The scream, right?”

And then, there came another. Louder this time, breaking and cracking in hysteria. There was a shift in the air; I saw mothers grab their children and people began to glance around. Without thinking, I slid my hand into my pocket, gripping my wand.

“Logan—” Hannah began, but before she could say another word, I heard running. The sound of many, many pairs of feet slapping hard against the ground. Screams rising all around us. Chanting, from somewhere I could not see. I turned on the spot, looking for my father, but a spell burst in the air, right near my temple. A shower of sparks rained down on all of us where we stood, and I heard Hannah scream aloud.

It took me a moment to realize that I should begin to run. I stood on the spot, watching the sparks bursting above us like fireworks. But then another spell whizzed by me, the beam hitting a man as he sprinted by. The spell hit him in the shoulder and sent him sprawling, and he didn’t move. A group of people, their faces obscured by silver, twisted masks, wearing long cloaks, had begun to slither amongst us, casting spells at random, yelling slurs.

“Logan,” Hannah screamed again, but when I turned to grab her, I grabbed air. Someone had run by, pulling her along with them. I could see her, struggling in the crowd, but being swept away like she was tossed by a wave. I could hear my heart hammering in my ears. Instead of following the large pack of people that seemed to draw hexes like a light drew flies, I ran in the opposite direction, my staggered breath like a sharpened knife in my chest. I ran for the trees—the thick forest thicket reaching out to me like arms might reach out to hug. I tripped, only once, but kept my balance, running as fast as I possibly could without looking back. I saw a jet of light hit a tent, which burst into high, blowing flames.

I didn’t stop running until the darkness of the thicket closed on me, and I ducked behind a tree, sinking down as my hands shook uncontrollably. My knuckles were white as I gripped my wand, holding it to my chest. I let out a dry breath that caught in my throat; I hadn’t seen where my father had gone, didn’t know where Cedric was. Hannah had slipped away, caught up in the roar of a panicked crowd. I glanced around the tree trunk, back towards the camp ground, and saw more fires. Something was dangling in the air, and I squinted, trying to make it out, when I heard a branch snap. I whipped around, holding my wand aloft. My mouth had gone dry. I could hear footsteps approaching, and I backed up, my back pressed firmly against the tree.

“Wand down, Diggory,” I heard a familiar, sneering voice say. I licked my lips and breathed, lowering my wand just slightly. Malfoy stepped out from around the nearest tree, his hands in his pockets. He wore a finely tailored black suit, and ran a hand through his manicured hair, as if the chaos around him was incidental.

“Malfoy,” I said, in an even tone.

I’d exchanged very few words with Draco Malfoy since our first year. I’d kept my distance, partly out of guilt, partly out of annoyance. It seemed to suit him to do the same. We passed in the hallways in silence, rarely ate meals at the same time. There had been a few times he’d gone out of his way to be a prick; he’d left toadscum on my seat in second year potions so it smeared all over the seat of my robes, laughed obnoxiously when I’d failed to fully transfigure a mouse to a bat, sneered widely when my boggart had been revealed to be the corpse of my brother.

I peered around the trunk of the tree again, my eyes adjusting in the dark. I could see now, that the levitating figures in the air were people; it looked like a family. I felt my arms go limp—two of the figures were quite small, like children.

“It’s the muggle family that runs the camp,” Malfoy said, and I turned to look at him. He was looking out at the figures, too. His hands were clasped behind his back, and he spoke quite seriously.

“How do you know that?”

“Hunch. Who else would it be? Muggles, has to be.”

“Disgusting. Those are little kids.”

“What’s it matter to you, Diggory?”

I curled my lip as I looked at him. “Muggles or not. How’d you like to be hanging like that, terrified out of your wits?”

“Well, I’m not.” He crossed his arms smartly. “And you wouldn’t be in danger of that, either. You’re not a blood traitor, as far as I know.”

“Blood traitor,” I repeated. “Nonsense. That implies I have some duty towards being a pureblood.”

“Don’t you? Don’t we all?” I ignored his flippancy, my eyes fixated on the scene above the campsite. I saw tents begin to collapse. One of the muggles wriggled and flopped, as if being struck with torture. I took an involuntary step forward.

“Don’t tell me you’re off to help the mudblood family?”

“Shut up, Malfoy.” I gripped my wand a bit more tightly as I stood my ground. I considered my options; I could run into the campsite and try to…well…I didn’t know what I’d do. Fight? If I could? Put my neck out and get my ass handed to me? “Who is even doing this?”

“Don’t you know?” He asked, coming even with me. Smugly, he eyed my wand. “Think, Diggory. Who else could be having so much fun with the mudbloods?”

My blood pumped furiously, and I raised my wand slightly, pointing it at him. My stomach twisted. He held up his hands in mock surrender, chuckling unpleasantly.

“Death Eaters?” I muttered. “You sure seem to know a lot about what’s going on out there.”

“Basic logic. You could try it.”

“Don’t start.”

I took a step back, wand still raised slightly, and then took another step back. I opened my mouth, ready to ask him what I feared to hear: that he knew who the masks were, when suddenly, something caught his attention. I saw his mouth part slightly as he glanced over my shoulder, and I began to turn on the spot, looking for what had caught his eye. And then, suddenly, he was on me like a tiger on prey. Draco’s hands were on my shoulders and he was shoving me—pushing me back like a steam roller into the trees. Caught off guard, I tumbled back, and he fell with me, both of us collapsing onto the fern and moss-covered ground. A jinx had landed right where I’d been standing—deeply splitting the trunk of the tree I’d leaned against moments before.

“Fuck,” Draco said, leaning away and dusting off his palms, covered in dirt. “Look at what you’ve done.”

“You pushed me out of the way,” I said, slightly dazed. I was closer to him than I’d been in three years. He still smelled of peppermint and green apples, just the way he had on the Platform years ago. I could see that his hair was growing long in the back, curling over the collar of his shirt. “That would have hit me.”

“Instinct.” He got to his feet, grimacing. His thin face was inscrutably locked. He glanced over his shoulder, as if he was being watched.

“Draco, I…” I shook my head and got to my feet. “Thank you.”

“Whatever,” he shrugged, stepping over a log, leaving me standing in his wake. “Keep a better eye out, Diggory. I’m not helping you again.”

And then he disappeared, leaving me to hide in the woods, my chest heaving as I struggled to stay calm.


	5. The Goblet of Fire

I waited, hunched in the darkness of the forest. From my vantage point behind a fallen tree, I could see the dancing fire and lights from the campsite, heard the screams of terror. Night grew darker, and I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself, terrified of drawing any attention. Briefly, I thought of calling out for Malfoy, seeing where he’d gone, but I let him be. He’d marched off, and I hadn’t seen him since.

After a while, I heard voices. A few of them, jumbled together, overlapping. Like a group of people were coming my way. I froze, closed my eyes. Every spell I could think of flickered through my mind like a reel, until I heard the voices more clearly.

“ _Death eaters_?” Someone asked, incredulously. “You don’t think, there’s just no way.”

“Don’t be daft, Ronald. Malfoy basically gave it away just now, didn’t he? Absolutely lapping it up.”

“Malfoy doesn’t know a thing,” a male voice sniffed. “He’s just putting on a show. He always is.”

Tentatively, I peered over the curve of the log I had been using for shelter. In the clearing in front of me, Ron, Harry, and Hermione had grouped together. They all looked relatively unharmed, except that Harry’s glasses appeared broken and Hermione had a gash across her forehead. Without thinking, I rose to my feet, and Harry immediately drew his wand, on guard.

“Sorry!” I exclaimed immediately, by way of greeting. “It’s Logan. Logan Diggory.”

Hermione pushed Harry’s arm down, and Ron let out a deep breath.

“You alright?” Ron asked. I stepped over the log and joined them. They smelled heavily of smoke, as if they’d just escaped the scene by a narrow margin.

“Spooked, but I’m not hurt.”

“Where’s your brother?” Hermione asked.

I shook my head.

“You lost everyone?” Harry queried.

“I got separated on my way back from the Match. I saw that they were…marching through the campsite. The Death Eaters. I ran here, figured they wouldn’t follow.”

“Death Eaters,” Hermione repeated emphatically, and Ron sniffed. “You think so?”

“You weren’t the only people to run into Malfoy tonight,” I told them. Harry glanced at Hermione, as if he wanted to say something aloud, but he lapsed into silence. Ron, on the other hand, had just opened his mouth, when I heard a creak from behind us.

“Stay here,” Harry warned, suddenly sidestepping us. He trod deeper into the darkness, and Hermione huffed.

“He’s going after that sound?” I asked, incredulously.

“It’s Harry,” Ron shrugged, by way of explanation.

There was a moment of silence, and then, I heard Harry exclaim.

“Winky?”

“Winky?” I repeated.

Harry strode back towards us, a small body in his arms. It was, I realized, a house elf. It was recognizable by it’s almost batlike ears, and wore a tea towel draped almost like a dress.

“She’s Mr. Crouch’s elf,” Harry said, and Hermione bit down on her lip. The elf stirred, her large orb-like eyes fluttering open.

“Oh, Harry Potter sir,” she squeaked loudly. Harry gently placed her down, on her feet. She turned on the spot, glancing up at Ron and Hermione and myself. Without warning, she squeaked unintelligibly, tears beginning to form in her eyes. “Oh no sir, where is he?”

“Mr. Crouch?” Hermione asked. “We don’t know, Winky. Are you alright?”

“I am alright miss, it is him who is in trouble, he is in much danger miss.”

“I think she’s right about that,” Ron said, his voice raising an octave. He raised an arm, pointed a finger. I followed his gaze and saw, over the campsite, a ghastly green figure in the sky. Where the muggles had hung, suspended like puppets, was a green skull. A snake seemed to emerge from the mouth like a horrifying tongue. I felt a chill in my bones. Something deep in my conscious told me this was a sign of death.

“I’ve got to get back,” I said. The screams had seemed to disappear, which was more worrying than it had been when they’d risen. I thought of Hannah and Cedric, still near the campsite. “My brother, my father…I’ve got to find them.”

“That’s the dark mark,” Ron said, still sounding rather stunned.

“Death sir, it means death!” Winky squealed.

“Come on,” Harry commanded. He took off, crashing through the trees towards the campsite. I followed, my heart skipping a beat with every step. Every moment I’d stayed hidden was one where my brother could have been hurt or trying to find me. And now…

“Stupefy!” A group of voices shouted. Harry skidded to a halt, and on mere instinct, I doubled over, my body folding like a piece of paper. Multiple stunning spells met at once, ricocheting off each other into the darkness. I heard Hermione gasp, saw Ron reach for her as if to make sure she was alright.

“Stop!” Someone screamed, and someone else yelled:

“That’s my son!”

My father and Mr. Weasley stepped forward at the same time. I saw Cedric step out near my father, his eyes sweeping over us. I ran to them immediately, ducking behind Cedric like a shy child. My father, his hand shaking, touched my hair to ensure I was alright. I saw that he sported a cut lip, and Cedric’s shirt had ripped.

“Logan,” Cedric said, hugging me tightly. “You’re okay. You’re alright.”

A shaky, uncertain breath escaped from my raspy lungs. I could hear someone else say my name, heard my surname, heard my father reply. But a very loud ringing had entered my ears as I looked up at the sign in the sky above us. Like I couldn’t see anything else.

“Miss Diggory!” Someone shouted, finally, and my father put a hand on my shoulder, shaking me to attention. A man with a short, clipped mustache stood out from the crowd, his wand in hand. He wore a smart hat and an unwrinkled suit, but the terror in his voice was unmistakable. “Did you see who cast the mark?”

“You cannot be implying that any of these children cast it?” Arthur Weasley said loudly, annoyance in his voice. “They’re children, Barty. They don’t know this magic.”

The man who posed the question didn’t seem to acknowledge that Mr. Weasley had spoken. “I asked a question, Miss Diggory.”

“No,” I said, my voice scraping out of my throat like hot ash. “I didn’t see who cast it. I was with Harry and Hermione and Ron. We ran when we saw it.”

“You ran towards the sign?” My father asked, his voice low.

“We were worried!” Harry exclaimed, his voice growing louder with exasperation. “We didn’t see who cast it, but we knew it couldn’t have been good.”

“I asked—” Mr. Crouch said, turning back towards me, but Cedric put a hand around my shoulder and tugged me behind him.

“I think, Barty, that you know none of these children cast the mark. Surely, you know.” My father stood closer to Cedric, closing the gap in front of me. “Certainly not a fourteen-year old. Now, if you don’t have a further question, I am going to take my children home. They’ve seen enough tonight, as we all have. You can come to me another time if you have a question for my children.”

*

No questions came for me. Instead, my father apparated us home very quickly. Our mother was waiting outside, tears in her eyes as we appeared in front of her. She grabbed us close, Cedric and I, folding us into her arms. A tear landed on my shoulder as she did so, and I closed my eyes, breathing in the scent of home; warm laundry and cinnamon. The campsite, the terrors I’d seen, seemed very far away.

My mother fretted terribly. She tried to force a cup into my hands, and Cedric’s, promising it was laced with herbs that would make us sleep. But I refused it, wanting only to change; the smell of the forest and the fires lingered on me still. I changed into a large jumper and shorts, despite the heat in the night’s air. I cracked open my bedroom window and lit a candle that flickered, miserably, in the slight wind. There came a knock at the door, and Cedric poked his head inside as I curled up on the small window seat.

“Checking in,” he said, and I nodded.

“I’m okay, really.” He slipped inside and took a careful seat on the edge of my bed. Silently comforting. I glanced down into the garden, looking for movement. All I saw was the light from the kitchen spilling across the lawn. “What happened to you?”

“I’d gone to Wood’s campsite to celebrate. Their whole family was there, even the extended. They were passing out drinks and singing, everyone was having fun, and then we heard the screaming.” He screwed up his face. “The...the masked people. They came into the campsite, set the tent on fire. Stunned a few of the family members who tried to stop them. I wanted to fight too. They had a family with them, the muggle family that helped run the camp. There was a little girl…”

“I saw,” I said, quietly. The image of the family, frozen in the air, settled over the room. Cedric swallowed hard.

“I managed to get a few spells off on them, but it was chaos. People were apparating on the spot. Dad managed to see me. He grabbed me and told me to run. But we couldn’t. We didn’t have you.”

“I hid in the woods.” Merlin trotted across the floor through the open door, mewing loudly. He jumped into my lap, pressing into my chest as if he couldn’t get close enough. “They really were death eaters, weren’t they?”

“Dad said so. You knew, too? You guessed.”

I shook my head. “I hadn’t seen anything before that would have…I don’t know what death eaters are supposed to look like. But I saw Malfoy, in the forest. He said something.”

Cedric looked uncharacteristically sober.

“He said they were death eaters?”

“He asked who else it could be,” I clarified. “He’s right, of course. It wouldn’t be anyone else.”

“He wasn’t really asking, Logan. He knew.”

“I know.” I scratched Merlin behind the ears and he purred loudly. I felt a small inkling raise up and I added: “He saved me though.”

“Who?”

“Malfoy.”

“Malfoy saved you?” Cedric asked, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “I thought you two didn’t get on.”

“We don’t. But he was hiding out where I was and…he saw that I was almost in the path to get jinxed. He grabbed me out of the way.”

“That’s decent of him. Surprisingly decent. Not that I’m…” Cedric shook his head and trailed off. “I’m glad he took care of you then.”

“I wouldn’t say he took care of me.”

“No,” he smiled. “No, I know you wouldn’t say that. You can do that. I’m just glad he was looking out. Can I say that, instead?”

“Yes,” I replied. I looked back out into the dark. Almost like a phantom, I could feel Draco’s hands on my shoulders as he pushed me out of the way. Saw the deep rivet in the tree trunk. My palms smarted, and when I looked at them, I saw my skin was still stained with dirt. “Me too.”

*

“He _saved_ you?” Daphne echoed, her voice just raising above a whisper. Pansy Parkinson, a few seats down at the Welcome Feast, turned towards us. She had a hand looped through the crook of Draco’s arm, and I averted my eyes, before kicking Daphne in the foot. She raised her brow and shrugged. “Well?”

“Yes,” I whispered back, balancing my spoon on the edge of my plate. The last remnants of sticky toffee pudding stuck to my lips. I’d told her the story of the Match in a whisper as the first years were sorted. “If he hadn’t grabbed me…I don’t think I’d be sitting here.”

“Fascinating,” she purred. “He’s such a bully, usually.”

“Usually,” I agreed. As if on cue, I watched him say something to Goyle with such an aggressive eyebrow raise that I could almost feel Goyle’s shame radiating down the line. Pansy laughed, throwing back her head as she did so and wrinkling her nose. Draco looked rather pleased with himself after that.

He hadn’t said a word to me. Hadn’t even looked my way since I took my place at the table. As if he didn’t even know who I was.

“I wonder if—” Daphne began, but was interrupted by the scraping of a chair. Dumbledore had gotten to his feet, eyes twinkling. The noise died down as he politely waited, before smiling serenely. 

“Now that we are all watered and fed, I have an announcement. It is my sad duty to announce that our inter-house Quidditch Cup will not be taking place this year.” A ripple of groans spread through the hall, but I tensed, waiting for his next words. I could see Cedric across the hall, grinning at his friends as they waited in anticipation for the rest of Dumbledore’s announcement. “But this is due to a very special event that I have the pleasure to announce, on the other hand. It is my honor to tell you that Hogwarts will be hosting the Triwizard Tournament this year, for the first time in nearly a century.”

“You’re joking,” I heard someone shout with excitement, and there was a giggle like wildfire at the Gryffindor table.

“I am not joking, Mr. Weasley. Now, the Triwizard Tournament was first established some seven hundred years ago, as a friendly competition between the three largest European schools of wizardry – Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, and Durmstrang. A champion was selected to represent each school, and the three champions competed in three magical tasks. The schools took it in turns to host the Tournament once every five years and it was generally agreed to be the a most excellent way of establishing ties between young witch’s and wizards of different nationalities – until, that is, the death toll mounted so high that the Tournament was discontinued.”

“People died?” I heard Crabbe say aloud, as if unable to grasp the concept.

“Of course, you troll,” Malfoy spat. “Why else would it have been discontinued? Only foolish champions died, of course. Shall we place bets on this years?”

“We don’t even know who will be competing yet,” Pansy pointed out.

I could barely hear his next words over the spreading excitement throughout the hall.

_Did you hear that? Prize money. Can you imagine all those galleons?_

_No Quidditch though, what a bummer._

_I hear all Beauxbatons girls are part veela._

_You have to be seventeen to enter?! Bollocks._

I almost missed Draco’s next words, but I felt a pull, suddenly. As if he had beckoned me in, saved these next words for me. I looked up and saw, for the first time this evening, he was looking right at me.

“It’s going to be someone who thinks they’re clever. Some idealized, glory-seeking fool. An attention hog. Someone who feels like they have to prove themselves. What do you think, Diggory?” He raised his eyebrows quite aggressively, his snark unmistakable.

“I think you’re too young to submit your name, as much as you might want to.”

Zabini let out an unmistakable chuckle.

“It’s going to be some daft Gryffindor,” Pansy offered, tossing her head. “Wish Potter was old enough to enter, that would be a laugh to watch.”

The bench scraped along the floor as students began to get to their feet, ready to take to their dormitories and fall asleep. Draco stood, and I looked down at my nearly empty plate, avoiding his eyes. I could feel them burning on me, his stare unrelenting.

“Think it would be just as funny to see the bleeding heart Slytherin fail,” he hissed as he passed by.

I closed my eyes, refusing to respond. _Do not push those buttons._ I could still feel his hands on me, still smelled the scent of him. Pushing me out of the way, keeping me safe.

“What the hell is that about?” Daphne asked, looking from me to Draco’s retreating figure.

“I haven’t the slightest.”

*

The Goblet of Fire was kept in the Great Hall, in front of the staff table. It was a simple looking thing—carved of wood and spitting white-blue flames from the rim. Dumbledore had drawn an age line around the Goblet to keep out the younger students from trying to put their name in the Goblet. Of course, there were still some attempts to enter nonetheless—the Weasley twins had taken an aging potion to try to cross the line.

I was sitting on a bench between classes one day, doing some reading for Ancient Runes, when I heard an excited clamor from the entrance to the hall. I looked up to see John Wood leading a pack of older Hufflepuffs into the hall, wearing their colored scarves and flushed with glee. Cedric was firmly in the middle of the pack, holding aloft a small piece of paper. I closed my book and stood, drawing the attention of the pack.

“Come here, little Diggory,” Patty Stimpson crowed, and I shouldered by bag. I felt eyes swing onto me, and I blushed, picking up my step a little as I hurried towards them. “Your brother is about to seal his fate as Hogwarts Champion.”

“See?” Cedric said, offering the scrap of paper to me. He’d written out his name, fully, neatly. But his hand still shook, even as he showed me the paper.

“Cedric,” I said, in a low voice. “You’re sure?”

“Very,” he replied, even-keeled. I took a step back, and he took a step forward. I swallowed hard, an inkling of fear crawling up my spine.

And with the eyes of the room on him, he stepped over the golden age line with ease. He reached up, stretching his arm, and dropped his name into the Goblet. The flames seemed to open to receive his name, flickering harmlessly, and then closed over the scrap of parchment. A few people in the room applauded, and I heard a few whoops of appreciation. Cedric grinned modestly, looking rather pink; as he walked back to us, I saw Cho Chang break off from her friends to speak with him, smiling and laughing at something he said. John teasingly rested his arm on my shoulder, speaking over my head with the rest of Cedric’s friends, as I stood there, feeling quite invisible. I glanced around the room and saw Harry Potter, sitting with Ron and Hermione. He had just watched Cedric put his name in the Goblet, and he was staring at the back of Cho’s head, looking rather miserable. The corners of his mouth drooped. He blinked, looked down, and then glanced up again, locking eyes with me. Hesitantly, I raised a hand in greeting. He offered me a small wave and a closed-mouth smile. I slipped out from under the crook of John’s elbow and left the hall, holding my books to my chest. I’d just stepped out the doors when I heard someone snicker.

At the bottom corner of the Grand Staircase, Pansy was leaning against the bannister, her back pressed against the curve of marble. Draco was standing over her, hands in his pockets, so close that his breath would have stirred her hair. Without intending to, I stopped in my tracks. Pansy touched her hand to Draco’s, skimming her fingers against his wrist lightly. He was staring at her with unfazed intensity, and I felt, suddenly, like it was quite hard to breathe. And then, she moved away, ducking under his arm and heading towards me, wearing a very pleased smile.

“Hi,” she greeted me, almost dismissively as she breezed by. She disappeared out the front doors, towards the courtyard. Draco turned to look at me, as if surprised to find me standing there.

“What is it, Diggory?”

“Nothing,” I murmured. I was holding my potions book so tightly that my fingernails had begun to dig into the leather cover, turning my knuckles white. “What are you looking at?”

“Not much,” he smirked, his eyes traveling from the crown of my head to my feet. He strolled over to me, stopping neatly just a few feet away. He turned, glanced inside the Great Hall. Saw Cedric, fielding congratulations from his friends. Like it had been written in stone. “He did it then, put his name in?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm,” he mused, and then tutted. “I suppose he’s our best option, isn’t he?”

“That’s it?” I asked, frowning. “No crack about my brother? You have nothing offensive to say, nothing mean-spirited?”

He shrugged. “I’ll save my jests for those who are deserving. Like you.”

And then, before I could even respond, he side-stepped me and trotted back down to the dungeons, leaving me standing alone in the Hall, as the echoes of my brother’s supposed glory overtook me.


	6. The Hogwarts Champion(s)

It rained the night that the Champions for the Triwizard Tournament were announced. Absolutely storming, rain coming down on the Castle in sheets that cause the lake water to stir like a cauldron. I sat in the common room at one of the desks closest to the window, the candle light flickering as I wrote out my Runes translations. I could hear the rustling of the other students as they began to drift down the stairs and out into the dungeons, could nearly feel their quivering excitement. I set aside the drying parchment and closed my arms around my body.

I knew it would be Cedric. He’d taken to studying even more than usual—despite his natural talent for magic. I’d caught him in the library laboring over transfiguration books he’d never cracked open before.

_Might help, if I’m chosen,_ he said, shrugging when I’d seen him. _What are you doing here so late, anyway?_

I was always at the library late, a habit I couldn’t kick. I’d found a spot near the restricted section that was largely overlooked. There was a desk tucked in a small, circular nook that was lit by a low hanging lamp. Sometimes, I’d stay there until Madam Pince would come to kick me out, basking in the silence of the spot I’d found. My long hours had paid off—I’d closed ranks on the scores of my class, second only to Hermione Granger in rank, though I remained quiet about it. No need to share my notes or field questions from others.

“Coming?” Daphne crept up on me. Smartly, without waiting for an answer at all, she stacked the parchment notes I’d written out and shut them in my book before handing it back to me. “You know you can’t miss this.”

“I wasn’t planning on missing it.” 

“Hannah’s saved us spots.”

We trailed through the entrance to the Great Hall. I could see Ced, sitting securely amongst his friends. He smiled at something they said, but he I caught the small bite he took on his lower lip as he ran a hand through his hair. He was nervous.

“Move, Diggory.” Malfoy pushed past, bumping his shoulder against mine, as Crabbe and Goyle followed him dutifully. He waved off a group of first years from the seats he wanted, and then settled in.

“You sure he helped you out at the Match?” Daphne asked, tentatively. “He’s worse this year. Meaner.”

“Yeah. I’m sure. Think he just wants to forget he ever did that. Prick.” I massaged my shoulder, though I’d barely registered his move—for his height, he hadn’t put much strength behind the shove. Hannah stood, a few rows away in the bleachers and waved to us eagerly. Daphne grabbed my hand and pulled me along behind her, and we settled in next to Hannah.

“It’s the talk of the house, Logan,” Hannah whispered as I sat. On her other side was Justin Finch-Fletchley. “Everyone says it’s going to be Cedric. Or Roger Davies. But mostly Cedric.”

“Nothing’s decided,” I protested, gesturing towards the Cup. “That’s why we’re here.”

“Wouldn’t you be proud if Cedric was picked?”

“Of course,” I relented. I knew he’d be great. But I couldn’t help but fear Dumbledore’s warning at the beginning of the year. The Tournament had been cancelled due to the high death rate. And a small, hateful part of me remembered that—if he was chosen, my parents would be around. Seeping into my school, looking for their boy. My little bubble of safety here would be broken by their appearance. I swallowed hard, as if I could push away the poison in my thoughts.

“Attention!” Dumbledore boomed, suddenly. He stood next to the Goblet, his hands spread wide, and smiled as all the heads in the hall turned to face him. Viktor Krum had taken a seat near the front of the room, and I could see students buzzing as they pointed and whispered about him, but his strong face remained completely blank—if he’d entered, he wasn’t showing any nerves. “It is now the moment you’ve all been waiting for. The champion selection is upon us!”

Dumbledore raised a hand, and the lights in the room dimmed. He approached the Goblet, hand extended, and lay his palm upon the rough surface. The flames turned a deep, ruby red, and then wavered wildly before spitting out a large scrap of paper. Dumbledore caught it, shook it, and read off the name:

“The Durmstrang Champion is Viktor Krum!”

“Krum! Krum!” The Durmstrang students began to chant wildly, pounding their feet on the floor. Krum hardly wavered in his solemnness, but stood to shake his headmaster’s hand, then Dumbledore’s. Professor Moody, with his horrible rolling eye, pulled Krum aside and showed him to a room off the Hall, even as the cheers for him continued.

The Goblet flames turned red once more. A fluttery, thin piece of parchment shot out and Dumbledore snagged it.

“The Beauxbatons Champion is Fleur Delacour.”

A very stunning girl, dressed in satin-y blue robes, stood from the Beauxbatons area. I heard the beautiful chime of the French language as they congratulated her, twittering in waterfall tones. She smiled, her cheeks full and blushed. When she walked by, I swear I saw silver in her hair.

“Veela,” Justin whispered aloud, dreamily, and Hannah smacked him on the arm. A few seats down, I saw Ron Weasley’s mouth pop open as she passed, and it appeared, if Hermione had not caught his arm, he would have fallen right over. Fleur followed Krum into the room off the hall.

The flames again turned ruby. I felt my stomach lurch, and it seemed that the entirety of the hall leaned forward. I could have heard a pin drop. The paper flew out and Dumbledore snatched it from the air.

“And the Hogwarts Champion…Cedric Diggory!”

There it was. Cedric leapt to his feet, smiling wide. There were wolf whistles and cheers that shook my feet and reverberated through my spine. Hannah and Justin leapt to their feet as well, screaming loudly. I stood, my heart hammering, and Cedric glanced into the crowd, his eyes darting back and forth. He saw me and pumped his fists in the air, as if to declare: _I’ve done it!_

_Congratulations!_ I mouthed. There was a light in his eyes I’d not seen before. The cheers seemed as if they’d never end, someone positively squealed when Cedric stopped to kiss Cho Chang on the cheek. I wrinkled my nose, lowering back into my seat, when something caught my eye.

In the crowd where everyone was looking at my brother, one head was turned to look at me. Draco’s white blonde hair was unmistakable, and I felt those slate grey eyes passing over me like a rake cut through mud. I didn’t look away, and either did he, until Daphne seized my sleeve, beaming.

“He’s going to be so great! We couldn’t have gotten a better champion, could we?”

“We now have our three Champions!” Dumbledore declared, and the room began to quiet. Cedric’s broad shoulders hunched as he ducked through the door off the Hall, and it swung closed with finality. “But in the end, only one will go down in History, only one will hoist this vessel of Victory, the Triwizard Cup!” Dramatically, he pointed to the corner. There, the Triwizard Cup glittered like a large diamond; the skeleton of the cup was silver, and seemed to be wrapped in gossamer.

But I wasn’t looking at the Cup any longer. The Goblet had begun to sputter, and the flames rose like a tornado, spitting and whirling.

“Something’s wrong,” I said, aloud, but no one seemed to hear.

The flames continued to climb, turning crimson, and Dumbledore finally seemed to see. He approached the Goblet, and like a force of lightening, a fourth piece of parchment shot out from the flames. Dumbledore caught it, turning it over in his fingers as it smoldered. He whispered a name, quietly, and then raised his voice just loud enough for us all to hear.

“Harry Potter.”

*

“Are you mad?” I had waited outside the Hufflepuff Entrance until Cedric was slated to arrive. He came down the stairs, looking rather worse for the wear, despite the metaphorical badge of honor on his chest.

“Logan,” he sighed, rubbing his eyes.

“Congrats, champion,” I said tentatively. He relented, cracking a small smile, and I walked into his arms. I’d grown more over the summer; my head had sprouted past his shoulder. “What happened, once he came in the room?”

“The girl, Fleur, she thought he was delivering some kind of message.” He snorted. “I did too, actually. And then Dumbledore came in. To announce the fourth champion.”

“It can’t be,” I insisted. “There’s never been a fourth. Besides, the Goblet…it looked wrong. Like it wasn’t…like Harry’s name wasn’t supposed to come out.”

“He’s not seventeen. His name wasn’t supposed to be in there to begin with.” Cedric sighed and slumped against the wall. “He’s a nice guy. And I’m not mad. But it did dim the excitement of the evening, a bit. Knowing that everyone…well, yes, everyone, will be focused on how he will do. I can’t blame them.”

“The Triwizard Tournament isn’t going to become any less exciting for you because of Harry,” I assured him. “Besides, we all know he won’t be the winner. Like you said, he’s not seventeen. If anything, we shouldn’t be rooting against him, but maybe people should look out for him.”

“I don’t want to play babysitter. I worked very hard for this, and I plan on working just as hard. If he’s going to participate, he’ll have to work hard.”

“I never said he shouldn’t. I’m just saying, and you know that I’m right, that this tournament just got a lot more dangerous now that Harry’s in it. Something’s not right.”

“You’re starting to sound like Mad-Eye Moody,” Cedric laughed. “Paranoid.”

“Well.” I crossed my arms. “Maybe he’s got a point.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m ready for this, you know.”

I sighed. I knew he was, of course. When I was five, he’d managed to vanish the water in a boiling pot when I’d almost tipped it down on myself. He’d conjured a Patronus when he was fifteen. He’d played Quidditch and escaped injury countless times. He’d proven, time and time again to be capable.

“I know,” I said, my gut twisting. “I know you are.”

*

“Fuck, fuck,” I could hear Seamus Finnegan whispering across the aisle. I glanced up just in time to see him explode the contents of his cauldron, silver liquid spilling across his desk and soaking his book.

“Hospital Wing, Finnegan,” Snape drawled, waving his wand lazily through the air.

“I know,” Seamus moaned, his hand beginning to swell as he jumped up and left the room. In the back of the class, Pansy giggled loudly.

Carefully, I added three measures of my crushed ingredients to the cauldron and waved my wand. The color turned a light purple, and the scent of lavender washed over me. Snape glanced into my cauldron, silently, but nodded. Approval, if not explicitly stated. I closed my book and set up the heat to last a while, when someone slammed something down on the desk in front of me. I looked up to see Draco, his hand clasped over a pin of some sort, standing next to me.

“Yes?” I asked, tersely, eyeing how close his sleeve was to the flame.

“Thought you might want one.” He moved his hand to reveal a pin that said, in bright red letters: _Support Cedric Diggory, The Real Hogwarts Champion._ Quite smugly, he pushed it across the surface of the desk towards me with a single finger.

“You made this?”

“I mocked up quite a few, sure.”

I turned around and saw that Crabbe and Goyle were already wearing them. Pansy was in the process of pinning one to the front of her robes. Zabini, hooking a brow as I looked at him, pressed his button. It turned a putrid green and displayed the words: Potter Stinks.

“No, thanks,” I said, pushing the button back towards him. Malfoy was quiet for a moment, before he curled his lip back. He looked at me like I was something he’d found on the bottom of his shoe.

“You have a soft spot for Potter, then? You fancy him?”

“No.” I pushed my book back into my bag and balanced my chin on the palm of my hand. I could see Harry, across the room, sitting next to Neville Longbottom. He was quietly working on his potion, looking quite unaware that Neville’s potion had begun to emit black smoke. “My brother is a Hogwarts Champion, but he is too. I won’t degrade that.”

“A bunch of Hufflepuffs snatched these up from me,” Draco informed me, his voice climbing an octave. That seemed to catch Harry’s attention; I saw his eyes turn towards Draco. “Including that friend of yours, Abbott. Blood traitor, but she seems to have inherited what was left of their good taste.”

“I don’t want the stupid button,” I affirmed, and plucked it up. I grabbed his hand, flipped it up so I could see his palm, and closed his fingers over the button. There was a zap in my skin when I touched him, and I felt it run up my arm and down my back. Draco opened his mouth to retort—

“Malfoy! Diggory!” Snape commanded, sounding tired. “Stop squabbling. Malfoy, back to your seat before I dock points from Slytherin.”

“Fine,” Malfoy responded loudly enough for the class to hear, before turning to look at me once more. “Go on then, Diggory. Fancy Potter. See where that gets you.”

Mercifully, at that moment, the bell rang. I left my cauldron to self-stir, sweeping out of the class before I could catch a glance of Harry—my cheeks burning with embarrassment at Malfoy’s words. I turned up the stairs, climbing up past the dungeons, past the Great Hall, and went into the library. I sunk into my spot near the Restricted Section, passing Viktor Krum, who had seemed to taken-up permanent residence near one of the sunnier spots near a window. I began to unpack my things, setting up a stack of homework—despite the promise of the tournament in the air, I had more assignments than ever. A transfiguration essay was due two days from now that I hadn’t started, and I had an oral exam for Astronomy a week out, not to mention my usual reading.

I’d just unpacked a packet of Wakey-Up Brew and was rustling around inside my bag for the usual black ceramic mug I carried, when someone said my name.

“Logan?”

I jumped, sending my bag crashing to the floor. I heard the crunch of broken pottery, and I nodded, acceptingly, as I stared down at my bag before sighing loudly. Harry Potter was standing in front of me, looking very sheepish as he knelt down to hand my things to me.

“Sorry,” he apologized, handing me the pieces of the mug. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Easily fixed,” I said, tapping the broken rim of mug with my wand. It sprung back together like new. “How are you, Harry?”

I hadn’t spoken to him since that night at the Quidditch World Cup. Hadn’t spoken to him since he was declared the fourth champion. He looked tired; he sported dark circles under his bright eyes, and his skin had grown rather sallow. He always looked thin, but his face had hollowed out some, as if he couldn’t bring himself to eat.

“I’m good.”

I cocked my head to one side and couldn’t help but smile.

“I don’t think so.”

He let out a small bark of laughter, earning a _shhhh_ from somewhere beyond the shelves that hid me away.

“No, you’re right. I’m not. I…I just wanted to tell you…I didn’t put my name in the Goblet. I don’t know how it got there, but I didn’t submit it.” 

“I know.” I ripped open the package of Wakey-Up Brew, breathing in the scent of cinnamon, and poured it all into the cup.

“You know?”

“Well, you’re fourteen. You couldn’t have.”

“Yeah, well. Some people have a hard time swallowing that.”

I shrugged. “I believe you.”

Harry looked down at his feet, shuffled them back and forth across the floorboards.

“I also wanted to say thank you.”

“For what?”

“I heard what you said in potions today. To Malfoy.”

“It’s no big deal. Really.” I crossed my legs at the ankles. “Look, Malfoy’s a bully. Terrible Bully. And he’s just…wrong. There’s no _true_ champion. That implies you’re lesser than Ced. He doesn’t think that, and either do I.”

“It just means a lot to hear you say that. More than others. Given your situation.”

“I’m going to cheer for my brother,” I told him. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t root for you, too. Hogwarts over everyone, right? Unless it comes down to just you and Ced, in which case…maybe I will take one of those buttons.”

He laughed, again. He had a nice laugh, surprisingly bubbly, and I realized I’d never heard him laugh before today.

“Fair enough. Think I should just throw in the towel and wear one too?”

“Can’t hurt.”

He rapped on my table with his knuckles, politely.

“I’ll let you get back to work.” He’d began to back away when I spoke up, feeling the pit of embarrassment that had lodged myself in my gut unfurl.

“Harry! Um…about what Malfoy said. You heard that last part, didn’t you?”

He turned very, very pink and began to blink rather quickly.

“Well, I think everyone heard.”

“It’s not true,” I assured him, raising both my hands as if calming a spooked horse. “No offense intended. He’s just…infuriating, that one. I don’t know why he’d say it. I mean, I do. You’re nice. Good eyes. A Hogwarts Champion.”

I realized, quite belatedly, that I was babbling. Harry raised a brow, a smile creeping over his wan face, and I cleared my throat. 

“I don’t fancy you, like that, is all I’m trying to say.”

“No offense taken.” He stopped backing away, just to examine a book on one of the shelves near my corner. He plucked it from the shelf and tucked it under this arm. “Shame, though.”

And then he disappeared as quickly as he’d approached. My mouth was left open, gasping for air like a fish out of water. Delicately, I dabbed at my brow with my tie, unsure of when it had gotten quite hot.


	7. What are you trying to prove, Diggory?

“Dragons.”

Cedric, looking very pale, stopped by the Slytherin table one Wednesday morning. I’d just finished scraping all the beans to one side of my plate and the sausage to the other, divided neatly by a piece of buttered toast. Daphne watched with amusement, before haphazardly dipping a forkful of eggs into the trail of gravy left behind by her own helping of sausages.

“Excuse me?” I asked, blearily. I’d only had one cup of coffee that morning, well below my average of three, and I blinked at him in bemusement. Cedric tugged on my elbow even as I whined aloud, pulling me up from the table and out of the Hall.

“Dragons. The first task. It’s dragons.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean we have to fight a dragon. Each of us fights a different dragon.”

He smelled of sweat and salt, like he hadn’t slept in days. His eyes were wide, hair uncombed. He’d never looked worse.

“A dragon,” I repeated, gesturing vaguely, and my voice crackled with fear. “A fucking dragon. Are they mad? Do they want you to get melted to bits?

“Not helping,” Cedric hissed, rubbing his eyes with his palms. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay, don’t panic. Come on. What’s the actual point of the task? It can’t just to be to fight a dragon, right? There has to be an aim.”

“Erm, right. We’re supposed to retrieve something it’s guarding.”

“So, you have to get past it. Steal something.”

“I…yeah. Never thought of it as stealing.”

I tapped my temple sarcastically. “Cunning. It’s why I’m in Slytherin and you’re not. Ok, remember how as kids, you had that dancing doxy toy I wanted so badly? You kept it in a drawer so I wouldn’t find it.”

“Yeah, yeah I remember.”

“You remember how I stole it, the last time?”

Cedric shook his head.

“I let the cat into your stash of ice mice, knowing she was going to bat them all around the room. You were trying to stop her, you didn’t even see me open the drawer and take it.”

“Right,” Cedric said slowly, his brow furrowed. “I don’t think ice mice are going to do the trick here.”

“Think bigger. You need a distraction, like I did. So make one. Something big enough to catch the attention of a Dragon. Maybe something big enough…well, big enough to eat.”

“Yeah.” He snapped his fingers and ran a hand through his un-kept hair. His eyes were bloodshot, and he rubbed them again. “That’s actually…wow, thank you. That’s good. I’ll have to see McGonagall about something.”

“Ced?” I whispered, as a group of Ravenclaws walked by, all wearing “Potter Stinks” Badges. “How’d you figure it out? I mean how’d you know about the task?”

“Oh, erm, Harry told me.”

“Harry Potter? He told you?”

“Yeah, why? Should I not have trusted him?”

“No,” I murmured. “I think it’s alright. Anyone else I’d say maybe not. But Harry…you can.”

“Thanks.” He patted me on the head, distractingly, like he might have pet a dog. “I’ll catch you before the task.” And then he sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time, leaving a path of giggling Beauxbatons students in his wake.

“You look tired.” Hannah descended the stairs at the same time Cedric dashed up them, giving him a friendly wave as she did so. She eyed me carefully. “Only one cup this morning, eh?”

“Barely,” I admitted, crossing my arms. “Hey, take that badge off.”

“Why?” She pouted, looking down at the front of her robes. She pressed the button, turning the badge green, and grinned. “It’s funny.”

“It’s childish.” I held out my hand, and she rolled her eyes before unpinning it and placing it in my palm. I tucked it into my pocket, away from view. “And you know he’s not bad.”

“I think he stole Cedric’s glory.”

“There’s no limit on glory, so you can’t steal someone else’s.”

“Well,” Hannah sniffed, looking towards the Hall. The smell of bacon drifted out the door, and my stomach growled. “I thought you’d understand, of all people.”

“Me? Just because he’s my brother—”

“You’ve been living in Cedric’s shadow for fourteen years.”

Silence fell between us, caught in my lungs. I sputtered, unable to form words. Hannah, clearly knowing she’d stepped over a boundary, lowered her voice apologetically.

“I mean, really, Logan. You’re almost the top of our class, but your parents have never fussed over you, have they? You never send them owls, they rarely send them to you. But Cedric—he’s the Diggory everyone thinks of.”

“Yeah, you know what?” I felt rather choked up all of a sudden. “I always knew that, but I never thought you would think it. Hoped my friends didn’t think of me as that. Little Diggory. Got it. Here.” I dug the button back out of my pocket and handed it to her. “Do whatever you want.”

“Logan,” she said, feebly, but I brushed by her. It had always seemed to be a looming but unspoken fact; I was lesser than Cedric. Coming to Hogwarts, getting sorted into a different house, making my own friends, working for my own marks; the fact had seemed to shy away and the hurt and jealousy I harbored had begun to fade. But knowing, now, that everyone looked at me the way I’d long thought of myself…

I swung my leg over the bench a bit too hard as I sat down, slopping Blaise Zabini’s orange juice over the rim of his goblet, earning a handsome but annoyed stare.

“You alright?” Daphne asked, watching me pour a black coffee and begin to down it.

“Fine,” I said bitterly, as I finished the first cup. Her blue eyes betrayed no such thoughts, as Hannah had stated. But I couldn’t help but wonder if she thought what everyone else seemed to, as well.

*

November 21st was the day of the first task. It came upon us as quickly as rain, and the morning proved fresh and cool, the grounds draped in a thin sheet of mist and fog. I’d been invited to see Cedric before the event, summoned to the waiting tent by a very nervous second year who’d handed me a sealed scroll at breakfast. I left the castle before the rest of my classmates, winding down the trail past Hagrid’s Hut towards the Quidditch pitch, feeling the air nip at my ankles.

My parents had already arrived when I ducked through the flap of the tent. My mother’s arms were locked around Cedric in what appeared to be an absolute death grip, whereas my father was surveying the other champions with clear elitism.

“Hi Mum, Dad,” I said, approaching them. My mother let go of Cedric to hug me, fleetingly, and my father seemed confused that I’d appeared at his side at all. 

“Can you be in here, Logan?” He asked.

“Dad, we were allowed to invite family.” Cedric held out his arms, tentatively, and I folded him into a hug of my own. Blush had returned to his cheeks, and his limbs were steady. He’d figured out a plan. “I wanted to see her before I went out. She helped me with—”

“Helped?” My father asked, eyes bugging. “Do you know what the task is?”

“No, no,” I protested. “Just...general musings.”

Cedric grinned and ruffled my hair so it fell into my eyes.

“Yeah, just general musings.”

I heard the quick shutters of a camera, saw a flash out of the corner of my eye. Harry had entered the tent, and the Daily Prophet was snapping photos of him incessantly, though he ducked out of the way.

“Harry!” My father boomed, as if they were old chums. Cedric and I locked eyes, as if we could communicate a single, unified: _ughhh_. “Are you ready for the first task? Cedric’s feeling quite good about it, aren’t you, lad?”

“Bit nervous, but not bad on the whole,” Cedric politely said, and reached out a hand to shake Harry’s. “Good luck out there.”

As if on cue, in the distance, I heard an alarmingly loud roar. The color seemed to drain from Cedric’s face and Harry’s at the very same moment. Dumbledore entered the tent, looking quite oblivious to the panic that had crossed the faces of the Champions.

“I’ll need all family members to please exit the tent. You may head right to the reserved stands upstairs, please. Champions, Headmasters, please stay behind.”

“Good luck,” I whispered, hugging Cedric once more. I passed by Harry, who nodded to me, looking like he was about to lose his breakfast. “Good luck to you, too.”

*

Ced came in second. He’d taken my advice, for which I’d feel guilty about for the foreseeable future. He’d walked out onto the craggy grounds, slipping slightly, and transfigured a small rock into a dog. The dog, waggling its tail and barking loudly at the Swedish Short Snout, kept it distracted for a moment. But as Cedric slipped between the rocks, climbing up under the belly of the great beast, it changed course. It blew down a gust of fire that made me catch my breath; Cedric’s shoulder was burned and part of his neck. But he snagged the Golden Egg quickly, and the handlers came in to knock the dragon out. He raised it over his head, even with singed flesh, and smiled right at me.

Harry came in first, much to my father’s chagrin.

*

“Did you hear?” Daphne was positively writhing with excitement as she stormed into the dormitory. Pansy followed in her wake, looking equally enthusiastic. I lay on my bed, lazily using one hand to scratch Merlin behind the ears. At the bang of the door, he hissed and jumped under my bed to cower.

“Hear what?”

“We’re having a ball!” Pansy declared, collapsing onto her own bed. She plucked up a mirror from her side table and studied her reflection intently.

“The Yule Ball. It’s a tradition. A Triwizard Tradition.”

“I can’t dance,” I said, immediately, though I’d never tried. In my head, I could see myself tripping over someone’s feet, falling hard on my elbows and knees.

“It’s not much about the dancing,” Daphne giggled, plopping down on her own mattress. “It’s about the dressing up and…well…”

“The dates,” Pansy positively squealed.

“I’ve made my mind up that Zabini will take me,” Daphne declared, looking over my shoulder. Her eyes glazed over and she smiled, quite dreamily.

“And Draco will take me,” Pansy announced. “Who do you plan on going with, Logan?”

In many ways, it was a question I hadn’t thought of. It extended beyond her simple phrasing. _Who are you going with?_ Or rather, _who do you fancy?_ In truthfulness, I’d never quite thought of it much. Sure, I’d found Oliver Wood quite appealing in my first year, and Zabini was quite handsome in the elegant sort of way. But as she asked, I found that only Draco came to mind, and I shook my head. Some part of me, some animalistic base instinct was attracted to him, yes. But everytime he opened his mouth—I shook my head. I’d never allow myself to fancy him.

“Maybe a Durmstrang boy,” I said, to placate them both. They lapsed into cheery chatter, discussing their plans for robes and what they’d do to their hair. I looked down at my hands, marked with ink, and felt that I suddenly may cry. Some part of me was broken. I couldn’t imagine a date to the ball at all; there was quite a heavy possibility I wouldn’t go at all.

“It’s hot in here, isn’t it?” I said, as a manner of excusing myself. I stood and exited the room, trotting down the stairs and out of the common room. Surprisingly, I found tears in my eyes, blurring my vision. I blinked rapidly, as if I could blink away the thought that had caused them: _no one will ask you._

I’d not planned on going anywhere specific, but I found myself walking up towards the library, brushing through the stacks of dusty books and running my finger along the shelves. Unconsciously, I’d made my way over to the spot I usually studied, when I stopped in my tracks. Draco was sitting at _my_ desk, pouring over a transfiguration book. He looked up and saw me, standing motionless between the stacks, and rolled his eyes.

“Can I help you with something?” He called.

“I study here,” I replied dumbly, staring at him.

“No,” he corrected. “I am currently studying at this desk. These aren’t your books, are they?”

Something inside of me broke. I couldn’t bear the thought of him sitting at my desk, thumbing through books with his long, ringed fingers. I hated looking at him, feeling my stomach twist as his hair fell into his eyes. And worst of all, I felt my blood boil at the thought of him attending the ball, knowing that he’d have his pick of girls who’d clamor for his attention, vie for him to even glance their way.

“I want you to move,” I declared, stomping forward. I grabbed his book and slammed it shut, nearly catching his fingers between the pages. Draco hissed and leapt to his feet, wringing his hand as though I’d hurt him. “This is my spot.” 

Draco caught my wrist with a quick, strong hand. He raised my hand, his lip quivering as I tried to yank it free. I shook my wrist quite viciously, increasing my force when he didn’t let go.

“It’s not your spot. I don’t see your name on this desk.”

With my free hand, I pulled my wand from my robes.

“I’ll mark it then. You can read, can’t you?”

Draco’s lip curled. “What are you trying to prove, Diggory? Hmm?”

“I have nothing to prove.”

“I think you do.” He leaned in closer, and I stiffened; turning my head as the scent of him washed over me. “You’re like this, normally. What broke you today?”

“You don’t know what I’m like. You’ve made it very clear you have no desire to learn anything about me.”

“Something is different,” he continued, still holding my wrist in his hand. He smiled, his eyes stormy and wicked with amusement. “You’re never quite so mean.”

On pure, unadulterated instinct, I jabbed the tip of my wand between his ribs. He laughed, softly, but released my wrist and took a step back. I exhaled heavily, my chest heaving. Without warning, I felt something hot fall on my cheek. And then it happened again. The expression he’d worn before, of mirth, faded. I raised a fingertip to my cheek, felt something wet.

“You’re crying,” he remarked, surprise in his tone.

“No I’m not,” I insisted, though I could feel the tears beginning to run down the length of my neck, soaking into my jumper.

“I was just…” he gestured, feebly to the desk. Refusing to look me in the eye, he scooped up his books with one hand and stepped away from the chair he’d claimed. “I didn’t mean…”

“Just go, Malfoy.”

For a moment, he hesitated. For a moment, he stood still, staring at my feet. And then, miraculously, he followed my command, edging by me as if I’d bite. Leaving me to sink into the chair and rest my head in my hands, biting down on my sleeve to snuff out the sound of my own sobs.

*

The Yule Ball was the only thing anyone could talk about. I watched as not one, but three different asks took place over the course of one charms class, much to Flitwick’s frustration. Daphne had taken matters into her own hand one dinner, simply marching up to Blaise and asking him to go with her. He’d looked rather taken aback, but had said _yes_ all the same, and she smirked as she settled in beside me and picked her fork and knife up where she’d left them. I sat by and watched in the library one afternoon as Viktor Krum, skulking behind shelves for almost a whole ten minutes, finally plucked up the courage to ask out Hermione Granger, who actually _giggled_ before saying yes. Cedric had asked Cho by taking her to coffee in Hogsmeade. I began to adjust to the idea that I might not go at all—that not going at all might be better than going alone, tradition be damned.

“It’s all rather fussy, isn’t it?” Hannah swooped down me as I exited the Great Hall the night that Daphne asked Blaise, as if she’d been lying in wait. I hadn’t spoken to her since the day we fought, and for a moment I was silent, weighing if I should even respond or not, before I finally relented.

“Juvenile,” I responded, and Hannah grinned. She wasn’t wearing the pin on her robes, I noted, though many of the pins had seemed to disappear after the first task.

“I’m sorry about—”

“Forget it,” I said, waving a hand. I didn’t even want to hear the suggestion of what she’d said to me. “Water under the bridge.”

We glanced back towards the Hall. Daphne and Zabini had trailed out together as almost one unit, very handsome as a pairing, deep in discussion. She was insisting, I could tell, on wearing blue robes to match her eyes.

“They look nice together,” Hannah said.

“She’s just asked him to go with her.”

“Oh?” She blinked. “Have you been—”

“No.”

“Fussy,” she repeated.

“Have you?”

“Well…” she trailed off. “Yes. Ernie asked me last week.”

“Oh. Well that’s really good. You guys get along so well.” I was starting to feel as sour as Snape looked. Draco trailed out of the Hall now, following Blaise and Daphne with calculated slowness. Pansy was at his side, jabbering intensely and waving her hands as she spoke. His head snapped up when he saw me standing with Hannah, and I lowered my gaze. Since that night in the library, he hadn’t said a word. Not even to tease or mock. Simply acted as if I wasn’t even there, like he’d never seen me cry. I wondered if he’d asked Pansy yet, though I knew full well she’d scream it from the rooftops if he had.

“Logan, hey.” I hadn’t even seen Harry trail out behind all of them, dodging around Draco and approaching the pair of us. Hannah immediately looked to me, her eyes going wide, and I shrugged, as if to say _what?_ “Hannah, can I talk to Logan for a moment?”

“Yeah talk to Logan for as many moments as you want. I’ll just…” and she scampered off towards Daphne, grabbing her arm and turning her towards me. It dawned on me that there was presumably about one reason a boy would try to get me alone right now. Harry seemed a bit nervous, ran a hand over his hair, trying to flatten it. Positively everyone was staring at us now, even those who continued to stream out of the Hall from dinner.

“Listen, erm…I know you’ve told me before that you don’t fancy me, and that is totally, totally fine. But I was thinking that maybe you’d want to go to the Yule Ball with me, as friends. I know that your brother is a champion and that might be odd, but I know he’s going with Cho so I don’t think he’d pay much attention, you know.”

His eyes really were the most magnificent shade of emerald green. It was hard to tear my own eyes away from them, but I couldn’t help but glance towards the entrance to the Hall. Daphne and Hannah were nearly squealing as they huddled together, causing Blaise to roll his eyes. Pansy scoffed aloud. And Draco…was staring with an expression I’d never seen before. Like I’d punched him in the windpipe. I swallowed, and then watched as he reached out a hand for Pansy, who sighed contentedly and leaned her head against his shoulder. 

“I think that will be really fun,” I murmured, turning back towards Harry and smiling. “I’d love to go with you, Harry. As your friend.”

“Brilliant,” he said, looking quite relieved. “Thanks.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at that—his thanking me. As if hundreds of girls weren’t falling over themselves, waiting for him to ask. And here he was, acting as if I was doing him a favor. He grinned, and I patted him on the shoulder.

“I’ll meet you out here?” I pointed to the bottom of the Grand Staircase. “At eight?”

“Perfect.”

Suddenly feeling quite a bit lighter, I drifted away, falling into step with Daphne and Hannah as we began to walk back to the Dungeons.

“Wow,” Daphne said, drawing out the word. She raised her eyebrows. “You’re going with Harry Potter.”

“We’re friends,” I said, but smiled. “I thought no one was going to ask.”

“Can we go shopping for Dress Robes?” Hannah asked, looping an arm through Daphne’s. “Saturday morning, in Hogsmeade. I have absolutely nothing to wear.”

“We’re in,” Daphne agreed readily, though I’d planned on studying Saturday morning.

We’d just made it down to the dungeons, and Hannah had taken a left towards the Hufflepuff common room, when I heard someone boom my name.

“Diggory!” I turned to see Draco following, his arms swinging rather menacingly as he gained on us. I rolled my eyes towards Daphne, but stopped all the same.

“Go ahead.” I told her. “I’ll meet you.” She eyed Draco for a second, as if reluctant to go, but then with a little jerk of her head, began to walk back to the Dormitory.

“Yes?” I asked, turning on the heel of my foot to face Draco. He stopped a bit too close, so close I could smell the peppermint tea on his breath, but I didn’t move. His hair was falling out of place; little wisps falling across his forehead.

“What was that?” He asked, gesturing back towards the Great Hall.

“What was what?” I teased, thoroughly enjoying how much his brow furrowed.

“Potter?” He demanded. “Potter?”

“Oh, Harry? He’s asked me to the Yule Ball. What do you think, green robes? Or purple, to compliment my eyes.”

“You can’t go with Potter,” he sputtered.

“But I’ve said yes already.”

“What are you playing at? What are you trying to prove? Hmm? Do you hate your brother that much?” The enjoyment I’d had at teasing him flared out quite quickly, and I drew myself up straight.

“I’ve said it time and again, but you can’t seem to get this through your thick skull. Harry and Cedric are both Hogwarts Champions. My being friends with Harry doesn’t affect that.”

“So why are you going with him, then?”

“Why does it matter to you?”

He took a deep breath and looked around, looking everywhere but at me, before he took a step back.

“It doesn’t.” He put both his hands in his pockets, and then sneered. “I think you’re making a mistake, that’s all. But I don’t care. It’s your funeral, Diggory.”

“Kind of sounds like you care,” I replied, crossing my arms.

“Get this through your thick skull.” Draco leaned in again, the sweetness of the peppermint washing over me. “I don’t care about you. I don’t care about what you do or who you’re with. I don’t even think of you, ever.”

And then he was gone, stepping by me like I was a stranger on the street. I leaned against the wall, my heart hammering. He had spoken so casually and cruelly in that moment—and yet…all I could muster was disappointment at the fact that he might not think of me at all.


	8. Yuletide and Firewhiskey

The word spread through school like fire; _Did you hear that Harry Potter asked Logan Diggory to the ball? Did you hear she said yes?_ Girls I didn’t even know were glaring at me in hallways, sniffling at me as I passed. Even Cedric had waited for me outside of Charms to find out if it was true.

“Potter, really?” He’d asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I thought you liked Harry.”

“I do! I just didn’t know you fancied him.”

“Please,” I responded, rolling my eyes. “We’re chums and that’s all.” 

But even my truthful protests didn’t seem to convince anyone. On the night of the ball, I sat on Daphne’s bed as she fluttered around getting ready. I’d spent a half hour trying to draw even eyeliner, and sat out for a bit to keep my hand from shaking when I’d apply my lip gloss. Daphne sat in front of the mirror, dressed in ice-blue robes, carefully pinning her hair into place. Pansy, who’d been asked by Draco, and Millicent, who was going with a Durmstrang boy, were getting ready on the other side of the room in near silence. Avoiding her side glanced, I couldn’t help but watch Pansy as she got ready; wondered if Draco would wear robes that would go with the pink ones she wore, wondered if he’d ask her to dance.

“Snap out of it,” Daphne commanded at one point, waving a hand across my eyes to get my attention. “I asked, silver earrings or gold?”

“Silver,” I said immediately, turning over onto my back. Merlin mewed loudly in agreement, and Daphne snorted. “You’ll look like a snowflake.”

“Do I want to look like a snowflake, is the question?”

“Logan,” Pansy said suddenly, and I propped up on my shoulders to look at her. She wore a curious expression, as if she were calculating her next words very clearly. “You haven’t changed yet.”

“I’m putting my robes on at the last possible second so I don’t wrinkle them.”

“What color?”

I pointed my wand at the garment bag that lay draped across my own bed, so that it lifted up and drifted away. Underneath lay my dress robes, a delicate lilac that cut a deep-V across my chest and cascaded down my legs in soft, swishy fabric.

“They’re quite nice.” Pansy’s own robes were more structured; a skirt that flared out with strategic folds to hold its shape. “Too bad though.”

“What’s too bad?”

“That your robes are so beautiful when…well…you’re scraping the absolute bottom of the barrel for a date.” She slid a golden clip into her hair, turning her chin to examine it in the mirror. “Don’t know how nice they’ll look with a filthy half-blood on your arm.”

“Someone’s parentage doesn’t make them worthy,” I said, slowly and firmly, feeling my temper rise and hackle. “He’s a good wizard, and a Hogwarts Champion if you’ve forgotten.”

“Please,” Pansy scoffed, turning and putting her hands on her hips. “It’s even worse he’s asked you out of pity.”

“Pity?” I spat.

“Draco told us. Potter asked you because he felt bad.”

“Yeah?” My temper boiled over, even as Daphne shook her head in the background, knowing what was coming next. “What’s your excuse? It’s not like Draco’s asked you because he likes you. Pity, or do you just open your legs that easily?”

That did it. I felt my chest rise with the labor of my words, and I felt the smallest pang of shame for what I’d said; her face crumbled and rearranged into a scowl. Pansy swept from the room, huffing as color rose in her cheeks. But before she left, she stopped at the door, holding onto the frame.

“Don’t be jealous that you have to settle. I know you wanted to go with Draco. But you’re second place, and you have to realize it. That’s all you’re meant for, coming in second.”

And then she left, slamming the door behind her. Daphne rounded on me, her mouth slightly open.

“What the hell was that all about?” She asked, gesturing generally to the air.

“Don’t ask me, I have no idea.” I stood and reached for my robes, my heart still pounding. “Help zip me into this, will you?” Daphne obliged, shifting my hair over my shoulder to make sure it didn’t catch, before brushing some loose cat hairs off the back.

“Are you okay?” She asked, after a moment, and I shrugged.

“Not the first time I’ve heard something like that.”

“It’s not true.”

“Are you sure?” I asked, aloud, the sarcastic edge in my voice barely above a whisper.

“Listen up, idiot.” Daphne’s tone was not unkind. She grabbed my shoulders and pushed me in front of the mirror. “Look at yourself, right now.”

I looked at my reflection, as she asked. I took in my thin, honey-colored hair that curled at the ends, the plain grey-colored eyes set below thick brows. I tilted my head as I examined the dusting of freckles along my cheekbones, the hard angle of my jaw. I raised my thumb to my lip, ready to gnaw on my nail, but Daphne slapped my hand away and handed me a tube of peach-colored gloss instead.

“I’m only going to tell you this now,” she said, firmly. “Because you should never, ever, need reassurances about how great of a person you are, Logan. That should be quite apparent, especially to someone smart enough to be second in our class. Number one, you’re bitingly clever. Not just in class, but the things you say sometimes. You say things I’d never think of, things I could never come up with. Witty is probably a good word for it. Two, you’re loyal, but not dumb. You have your loyalties, but you don’t let it cloud your judgement. And three, you’re an absolute stunner. I’d kill for your bod or your jawline, and I’m not the only one who’s said it. Now, there’s a ton of other things I could say, but I think we both know you’re fully, totally embarrassed at this point and you don’t want me to continue.”

I couldn’t look her in the eyes, despite how relieved and touched I was to hear her say those things. I nodded and unscrewed the top of the gloss. Daphne squeezed my arm and stepped around me to pick up her own shoes and slide them on her feet.

*

I kept my watch in my bag, though I knew I wouldn’t have use for it. I checked it as I stood at the bottom of the Grand Staircase, waiting for Harry. He was four minutes late. I tucked my watch back into my bag and leaned against the bannister. Students trailed into the hall in pairs or groups, everyone nervous in their attire. I watched Professor McGonagall gather my brother and Cho Chang and asked them to stand off to the side, with Fleur and Roger Davies. I watched Blaise and Daphne argue over whether he should pin a flower to his lapel or not, continuing to banter as they walked inside, saw Hannah and Ernie take a photo in front of the doors.

“Diggory.” I felt Draco’s shadow slide over me before I even turned to see him, he descended down the stairs in a pair of expensive-looking, plain black robes. He’d slicked his hair back extra tightly, so not a hair fell out of place. He’d put on fine silver rings on his long, elegant fingers. He glanced down at me, his face devoid of any telling emotion. “You’re alone.” 

“I’m waiting for my date.” I turned back around and scanned the hall. McGonagall was now ushering Krum, stoic in red robes and a fur sash, and Hermione, pretty in periwinkle, to stand behind Cedric and Cho. She peered around with a pursed mouth, looking for Harry. He was six minutes late now.

“If he shows.”

“Shouldn’t _you_ find your date?” I asked, staring straight ahead. He stood directly next to me now, starkly taller, though I felt his breath on my shoulder and the nape of my neck.

“No need,” he replied, breezily. “She’ll find me.”

“Great,” I murmured, pointedly. “Good bye, Draco.”

“Miss Diggory!” Professor McGonagall, spotting me on the stairs, bustled over, waving her hands at Draco to dismiss him. He slunk away, disappearing in a large crowd of Gryffindor Sixth Years who seemed to be passing around a flask behind McGonagall’s back. “Mr. Potter is your date, is he not? He’s late.”

“I—"

“Here, Professor.” Harry, panting slightly, skidded up right behind me, nearly crashing into the back of my knees. With a sheepish smile, he put a hand on my elbow, lightly, and nodded. “Sorry. There was…erm…an emergency.” Behind him, looking absolutely miserable, Ron Weasley walked down the stairs with Padma Patil on his arm. It looked like he’d tried to hex his robes to pieces.

“Yes, well…” McGongall trailed off, glancing at Ron as well. “Please, line up behind Mr. Krum, will you? The Champions have to make an entrance.”

“You look very nice,” Harry said, offering me his arm.

“Thank you.” I grinned and placed my hand on his wrist, lightly. “These robes match your eyes.”

“Can’t take credit. Mrs. Weasley bought them for me before the year began.”

“Eh, take credit for your eyes.”

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall said, shrilly, and ushered us forward into the Hall. “Please, please, pay attention. The champions dance is tradition. And as a Gryffindor champion, a Hogwarts Champion…”

“You’re leading, Logan,” Harry said, and I thought, for a moment, McGonagall might pass out from the stress of it all. But her mouth only hardened, and I stifled a laugh. Harry waited until she walked away, and then immediately whispered: “You might have to, I don’t know how to dance.”

“And you think I do?”

“We’re doomed.”

In front of us, Cedric turned around and grinned.

“It’s easy,” he whispered. “Harry, a hand on her waist, Logan, put your hand on Haryr’s shoulder and then you hold your other hands. All you really do is step like you’re in a box. Up, side, back, side.”

I rolled my eyes. Of course, at some point, Cedric had learned how to dance.

*

Lucky for us, we only had to formally dance one time. Harry stepped on my toes, and I had begun to sweat when I noticed how many faces were watching us from around the room. But then the Bent-Wing Snitches took the stage, and the room turned to chaos. Everyone seemed to rush the stage, and all formal dancing appeared to be lost. Harry and I jumped up and down in place of dancing, he chaotically would spin me out and back in as I laughed, watching his hair grow progressively messier with every second.

“Hey!” He yelled into my ear, spinning me out again and then grabbing my shoulders. “I’m having fun?”

“Is that a question?” I yelled back.

“I’m surprised I’m having this much fun!” He explained, smiling wide. I grinned back, and he leaned in to say: “Listen, I’m parched. Let’s get some punch?”

“Please.”

Harry poured us each a large glass of punch from the self-refilling crystal bowl, and we took a seat next to Ron and his date, looking very miserable indeed. Ron immediately began to complain about Hermione, who had been dancing non-stop with Viktor Krum all night, and Harry looked very on-edge. I glanced around the hall to see Daphne and Blaise leaving hand in hand, Cedric and Cho looking at each other like no one else was in the room, and Pansy, surprisingly, dancing with a Durmstrang boy.

I arched my neck and saw Draco, talking to a Beauxbatons girl who looked torn between annoyance and amusement. As I watched, he slipped a flask from his pocket and poured some liquid straight into his mouth. The girl left then, leaving him standing alone as he stuffed the flask back into his robes pocket. He looked drunk; he was slightly red in the face and his hair that he’d so carefully combed back had begun to unravel. It was only a matter of time before a Professor caught him with the flask.

My attention was only drawn back to my surroundings when I heard yelling right next to me.

“Fraternizing with the enemy?” Hermione Granger was standing at the edge of our table, furiously towering over Ron. Ron looked up at her defiantly, his face screwed up into a scowl. “Who was so excited to meet him? Who wanted his autograph and everything?”

“Things change!” Ron said, standing so quickly that his chair bucked and toppled over, despite Harry’s attempt to catch it before it hit the floor.

Hermione let out a hiss.

“Well, you know what the solution is, don’t you?” Hermione’s hair had begun to fall from its elegant knot, the curls wildly draping around her face like a lion’s mane. “Next time there’s a ball, pluck up the courage and ask me before someone else, and not as a last resort!” She stalked away, her robes flaring behind her. Ron followed, nearly bellowing:

“You’ve completely missed the point.”

“Er…” Harry said, looking rather panicked and standing.

“You need to go, don’t you?” I asked.

“Believe me, I don’t want to, but something tells me…”

“Yeah, Ron’s going to want to complain. I know.”

“Exactly.” Harry paused, and I stood to hug him. I closed my arms around his shoulders briefly, and then leaned back. Very gently, very politely, and yet, very clumsily, Harry pressed his lips to my cheek. “Thank you, again.”

“Hey, any time. If I can get dressed up, it’s a yes.”

He grinned, and then half walked, half ran from the Hall, following Ron. I stood on the spot, and then reached for my bag, stashed under my seat. With Harry no longer here and Daphne long gone, I figured I wouldn’t intrude on Cedric and Cho.

“Going somewhere?” A voice said, slurring slightly.

“Draco.” I shouldered my purse and turned to see him standing next to me, looking out onto the floor as if he didn’t mean to speak with me at all. “I’m leaving.”

“He’s left?”

“Who? Harry? Yes.”

“Potter can’t dance.” His eyes were unfocused as he spoke, and I saw his hand brush his pocket again, searching for the flask.

“Hey.” I caught his wrist and shook my head. “You’re drunk. Hold off.”

“Can’t tell me what to do.”

“I don’t want to lose House Points. They’re going to notice, if they haven’t already.”

“No one’s noticed me tonight, Diggory. I swear it.”

“Well, I have. You can barely stand straight.”

As if to prove my point, Draco took a lopsided step, his legs nearly collapsing. I caught his arm with a steady hand, and he shook it away.

“Come on.” Insisting, I took his arm in my hand and guided him away from the table, weaving through the chairs and abandoned coats and decorations. I could hear his breathing, shallow, but he didn’t try to shake me off again.

“Where are we going?” He asked.

“Outside. You need to get some fresh air. Sober up.”

There was a small bench on the outskirts of the courtyard, where the faeries had not inhabited the bushes that surrounded it. The only light came from the moon and was shaded away from the Beauxbatons carriages and the other students who’d come to sit outside. I sat on the bench, and Draco swayed, refusing to sit until I patted the spot next to me.

“Don’t patronize me, Diggory. I stole this, you know.” He took the flask from his pocket and waved it in front of my face. “It’s rotten quality Firewhiskey, shouldn’t have expected different from Gryffindors, but it does the trick.”

“Give me that,” I said, snatching it out of his hand. I tucked the flask into my bag and closed it tightly. He closed his eyes and tipped backwards a little, feeling the cold air on his face and breathing deeply. “You’re absolutely plastered.”

“What else was I supposed to do?” He kept his eyes closed. “Just go to this as I am? Sober? Dance with Pansy? Unlikely.”

“Why not? Pansy likes you. She’d be a good date.”

“Pansy likes you,” he imitated in a high-pitched voice that sounded nothing like mine. “It’s not about that, it’s about if I like her.”

“You don’t like anyone,” I said, nearly laughing.

“That’s not true.”

“Oh, isn’t it? You’re such a bully. I didn’t think you liked anyone.”

“I tolerate Crabbe and Goyle.”

“Tolerate doesn’t mean you like them.”

“Well, I like you.”

I paused.

“What?”

“I like you,” he repeated, opening his eyes and creasing his brow as he frowned. “Like might not be the right word. But no one talks to me like you do. That’s interesting.”

My pulse was absolutely thumping in my neck, and I cleared my throat.

“Here.” I reached into my bag and pulled out a packet of Wakey-Up brew. I reached out into the rose bushes, plucked a flower, and let it sit in the palm of my hand. I transfigured it to a cup, poured the packet of brew inside, and filled it with water. “Drink this. It’s coffee.”

“This is strong coffee,” Draco noted, nearly getting the tip of his nose wet as he stuck it forth to smell the liquid. “It’s going to sober me up?”

“Yes.”

“What if I don’t want that?” He asked, looking directly at me with a clarity I’d not seen on his face all evening. I felt like there was an invisible thread between his eyes and mine, one that kept me tethered and I couldn’t bear to break by looking away. And yet—

“I’m pouring this out,” I warned him, unscrewing the flask. In a swift moment, I poured the remaining liquid onto the snowy ground, a small hiss and line of steam emitting from where I’d poured it.

“Your loss,” he grumbled, and then took a sip of the coffee before screwing up his face and spitting. “This is strong.”

“I told you. Come on. Drink more. You know Snape would take points from us if he saw you.”

“Fine. See, like that? Very bossy. No one tells me what to do.”

“I’m not bossy,” I said, picking at my fingernails. “It’s only helping.”

“Why would you even help me? I’m not nice to you.”

“Like you actually said, it’s not about that. I don’t want to lose points.”

“So it’s about _you_.” Unless I was mistaken, there was laughter in his voice. Like he was teasing me. Almost good naturedly.

“It’s about Slytherin,” I said primly, and crossed my legs. He actually laughed at that, his voice low and velvety, and I felt my stomach flip. The cup I’d transfigured looked quite small in his hands, his rings shining quite brightly against the matte white from the rose petals.

“I think it’s about me.” I didn’t fight him—I knew there would be no point. Whatever I said, he’d take it to be about himself. “So where did Potter go, anyway? He just abandoned you?”

“No, I told him to go. Trouble in the Gryffindor house.”

“He kissed you before he left.” Draco took another sip of the coffee. I could see his face beginning to tighten up a bit, losing slack. The brew was working. “On the cheek. I saw it.”

“Yes, he did.”

“And you liked it, didn’t you?”

I shrugged.

“It’s just…we’re friends. Not that it should matter to you. It’s not like that with Harry and I.”

“What is it like, then?” He demanded.

“What’s it like to have friends?”

“What’s it like to be something other than friends, is what I’m asking?”

His eyes were light, edging on eerie. He fixated on a spot above my head and wrapped his hands more firmly around the mug. 

“Like my nemesis?”

“Don’t.” He shook his head, darkly. “Answer the question.”

“I don’t have an answer for you. I have friends and I have family. I don’t have real enemies, I suppose, since I can sit next to you without jinxing you. No one looks at me in the way you’re asking about, though. I’ve never...I can’t tell you what it’s like because you can’t explain what you haven’t had, can you?” 

“You don’t think you have it?”

“No.”

“You don’t think there’s someone out there who thinks of you as more than a friend, more than an acquaintance? More than a classmate, even.” 

“If there is, I don’t know about it.”

“And if I told you?”

I felt my heartbeat rise. I was completely, utterly, bewitched by every word he had said. There was nothing more powerful, I realized, then my pull towards him in that moment. I wanted to trace my fingers across his knuckles, brush a thumb against his cheekbone, push his hair back before I leaned in and pressed my lips to his. But I was frozen on that bench, unable to do anything but stare at him.

“Tell me what?” I asked, finally.

“Logan.” He dropped the mug, and it shattered on the cold, stone ground. I didn’t move, even as I saw the dark coffee begin to crawl out into the snow. He moved forward, and I could feel the heat rolling off him in waves. He seemed to hesitate, and then he began to dip his head, moving towards me like he was about to kiss me. I could see the burst of gold around his irises like a flared sun, and I shivered. His lips parted just slightly and then I smelled it. _Firewhiskey_.

“Draco.” I turned my head, and he stopped. His hand was frozen in the air, like he’d been reaching for me.

“What?” He demanded, his voice ragged. “What is it?”

“Not…you’re drunk.”

“I think this way even when I’m not drunk,” he said, voice crackling. “I think about you and I—”

“No.” I stood. “No, okay? Because I want to believe you right now. I do. I want to think that you think of me. But I know this is just the drink talking. You’d never say this to me. You’re probably taking the mick or just trying to…I don’t know. But it’s cruel, okay?”

“I swear.”

“Come on.” I shook my head. “Come off it. Let’s just go back to the Dormitory, alright? You can just sleep this off.”

“No.” He stood quickly, his face pale and drawn. Despite the fact that he nearly dwarfed me, standing, he appeared quite small. “No, I’ll have to find Pansy.”

“Pansy,” I repeated. A small part of me seemed to wither and die at the mention of her name. Break off and drift away. “Yes, you’ll have to find her.”

“I can find my way back inside,” he said stiffly, fiddling with the buttons to his suit.

“I know.”

“Logan.” That was all he said then, just my name. Barely a whisper. He looked at me like he couldn’t see anything else, just for a brief moment. I wanted to bottle the way he looked at me, keep it for myself. And then he turned, disappearing into the darkness, leaving me standing where he’d just been, with only the phantom of his voice to keep me company.

*

The next day seemed to lag. Everyone woke late, as if the evening had sapped their life force. I managed to drag Daphne to breakfast with me, though her eyes were puffy with sleep and she snorted, quite loudly, when I woke her.

“Here,” I said, shoving a croissant under her nose and pouring her a cup of coffee. “Eat, drink.”

She made a nonsensical sound in response. Her neck, which she’d tried to cover with a scarf, was covered in purple marks that I knew would mirror Blaise’s neck once I saw him. I had poured myself another cup of coffee and spooned some berries onto my plate when I saw him.

Draco entered the hall, looking rather worse for the wear. He had dark circles stamped under his eyes, and his skin looked sallow. When he saw me, he stopped, but only for a moment, before he strode up to the Slytherin table. He slipped onto the bench a few seats away, bowing his head slightly.

“Hi,” I said, tentatively. He cleared his throat.

“Hi?” He responded, sounding rather scratchy and rude. Goyle, in the seat across from him, chuckled.

“How are you feeling?”

“What d’you mean?”

“I...” I pointed to my own forehead, as if to explain. “Are you feeling foggy at all?”

Draco looked to Goyle, and then began to laugh, the laughter pinging between them like a game of catch.

“What?” He asked, though I knew it wasn’t a question. It was a dismissal. His tone was cutting, like it had been for the past four years. Firewhiskey had given him a devil’s tongue; hot breathed and lying.

“Never mind.” I turned back to my food, trying to hide the sting in my cheeks.


	9. Say It

_I was wading into the deep waters of the Hogwarts lake. The water had come up to my chest, bitter cold, and my teeth were chattering with the chill. The wind blew my hair all around my face, but I kept going. Further out, I could see Cedric waiting for me, treading in still waters with a smile on his face._

_“Come on,” he shouted, splashing water my way. “You’re so slow!” He turned and dived in, getting his hair wet. He resurfaced, laughing, and kicked out further. Shivering, I tried to follow, but found my arms and legs growing stiff and tired._

_“Cedric, wait!” I shouted, my feet lifting off the sandy shelf. I kicked after him, feeling kelp and seagrass brush my legs, felt the tickle of the cold seizing at me. But he didn’t listen, he splashed and laughed and dived in further. I felt my lungs contract and I gasped involuntarily as the cold closed around me entirely, and I began to flail. I watched Cedric’s head pop up and bob along the surface of the lake, and I waved my arm and called for him. He looked back at me, and began to swim towards me, his arms cutting evenly through the dark waters._

_“I can’t move!” I croaked as he got near, struggling to stay afloat. Water grasped at my neck and shoulders, trying to invade my mouth and lungs. Cedric reached out a hand, and I lunged for it, but missed. I gasped, trying to kick up further to the surface, and I made the grab for Cedric’s hand again, but found that his hand had curled up, the fingers making a fist._

_He was dead. Floating in the middle of the lake, white in the face and skin as cold and hard as granite. Looking at me with wide, unnerving eyes, his mouth slightly ajar. I screamed, screamed so loud I saw the water ripple, heard birds squawk. I screamed and I screamed but I couldn’t see another living soul—screamed Cedric’s name so he’d wake, but he didn’t. Screamed until—_

_Someone wrapped an arm around my chest, hooking their arm under my elbow and grabbing my opposite shoulder. Their body was warm, and they lifted up and away from Cedric, pushing through the water like a knife through warm butter. I threw back my head to see Draco, swimming with precise calculation as he held me against him._

_“No,” I screeched, seeing Cedric begin to slip below the surface. “NO.”_

_“I’m here to save you.” He informed me, sounding very matter-of-fact._

_“That’s my brother! Take me back to him now.”_

_“You can’t go back,” he said, his tone cold and informative. “I’m here to make sure you don’t drown.”_

And then—

I woke as a book slammed down near my head. I shot up, my knees slamming against the underside of my desk. I’d fallen asleep on my Herbology textbook, a small trail of drool affixed to my cheek. McGonagall stood near me, looking quite unimpressed as she stacked my books together quite loudly.

“Miss Diggory,” she chirped as I woke. “Good. You’re up. I’ll need you to come with me, please.”

I wiped a sheen of sweat from my forehead with my sleeve, feeling sick. Ron and Hermione stood behind her, whispering amongst themselves and looking rather confused.

“Right now?” I asked. “I think I need to see my brother.”

“This is about him, in a manner of speaking. Please come with me.”

I stood, scooping my books into my bag and following her out of the library.

“Do you two know what this is about?” I asked, my voice low as I caught up with Ron and Hermione.

“The second task, presumably,” Hermione responded authoritatively, but looked quite nervous as she ventured the guess. “Though, I can’t imagine what exactly this is about. We were just…studying.”

“I’m not being guarded by a dragon,” Ron grumbled.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hermione snapped, but seemed to soften. “That was the first task. They won’t repeat.”

“You don’t think…nothing with spiders?” Ron whispered.

But Hermione didn’t get a chance to respond. We’d arrived at a tower, a spiral staircase protected by a scowling Gargoyle.

“Sugar Plums,” McGonagall said, and the Gargoyle jumped aside, bowing deeply. She gestured us forth, until we’d lined up on the staircase, and it began to move, the stone grinding against the walls as it moved up like a corkscrew. It stopped to reveal a plain wooden door that McGonagall rapped just once, and then pushed open.

“Dumbledore’s office,” Hermione said, in a small, hushed tone.

It was a large space, deceivingly large based on the size of the narrow staircase. The walls were covered with portraits that peered down curiously, and near the far window was a perch where a rather large phoenix sat. Dumbledore sat at his desk, calmly regarding us over his glasses, and a small girl with silver hair stood waiting, with the Beauxbatons Headmaster standing over her like a guard.

“Good Evening Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley. And Miss Diggory, I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure before. Please, come join us.”

I stepped inside the room, admiring the delicate silver instruments that seemed to clutter Dumbledore’s desk, ignoring the whispers of the portraits that seemed to absorb our names like gossipy hyenas.

“You are wondering why you’re here, I’m sure. Along with Miss Delacour.”

Ah, Fleur’s younger sister. I wondered how I hadn’t seen it before. They looked nearly identical.

“You see, tomorrow’s task requires that each Champion retrieve something of great importance. In fact, the task requires that each Champion retrieve _you._ ”

“Professor, excuse me, but retrieve _us?_ ” Hermione asked, looking rather shell-shocked by the words.

“Yes, Miss Granger. I am quite aware that Mr. Potter has told you the aim of the task—to find what he’ll sorely miss. That would be Mr. Weasley. And Ms. Delacour would miss her sister, as Mr. Diggory would also miss _his_ sister. Just as Mr. Krum would miss you.”

Hermione turned a spectacular shade of crimson, and Dumbledore’s eyes sparkled. Ron shuffled his feet and looked up at the ceiling.

“But how—” Hermione continued, but Dumbledore raised a hand.

“All in good time, Miss Granger. I shall tell you all over a cup of tea.” He raised his hand waved it, and I noticed, for the first time, a floating silver tray that contained a kettle and four cups. He looked directly at me and asked: “Miss Diggory, is there a flavor of tea you prefer?”

“I…” I resisted the urge to say I preferred coffee entirely. “Peppermint?”

He nodded, and the tea kettle poured the perfect amount of water, which turned a lovely light gold shade—already brewed. A dash of milk jumped from the small silver creamer and splashed into the cup, which then floated into my hand of its own accord. I held it tightly as Dumbledore offered tea to the rest of the lot; Earl Grey for Hermione, Chamomile for Ron, something called Tisane for Gabrielle.

“A quick toast,” Dumbledore said, sounding quite restrained for someone making a toast. Hesitantly, I raised my cup. “To your health, as well as the Champions.”

“Hear hear,” Ron said rather quietly, and we all took a sip.

I tasted something quite unlike peppermint, then. Like lavender and—

“Oh!” I heard Hermione gasp, as my vision began to blacken around the edges. I heard someone’s cup crash to the floor and shatter, but it was too late to see who it belonged to—I was already asleep.

*

The first thing I remember hearing was screaming. But not screams of terror—of victory. Like hundreds of voices were raining down on me with cheers and encouragement. I took a great, shuddering breath that was sweet and crisp and I opened my eyes.

I was bobbing in the lake, surrounded by large, spindly stands that had been sunk into the water. Each stand was divided into levels, and I could see the familiar faces of my classmates screaming and pounding their fists on the metal railings as they peered down at me. I sputtered out a trickle of water, and found that Cedric was at my side, holding my hair back as I spat.

“Nice to see you too,” he said cheerily, treading water easily.

“What? Where am I?” I grabbed his hand quickly and forcefully, checking for a pulse. He slapped my hand away good naturedly. “Is this a dream?”

“God, that sleeping drought was strong. Come on.” We were being beckoned over to one of the platforms. I went after him, feeling rather slow and bogged down by the weight of my robes that billowed out around me. Cedric clamored up onto the platform with ease and pulled me after him. Immediately, Professor Sprout was surrounding us, handing us blankets. Someone shoved a mug of coffee into my hands and I sighed aloud, relaxed as the warmth spread through my fingers.

“What happened?” I demanded again, and Cedric sipped from his own mug before answering.

“Not sure. You’ll have to ask someone else.” There was a roar from the crowd, and I watched as Krum burst from the surface holding Hermione’s arm, his head horrifically transfigured like a shark. “All I know is that we had to swim to the bottom of the lake to find you. Where the Merpeople live.”

“No one asked me if I was okay with that,” I muttered aloud, pulling my blanket closer and tighter around me.

“Well, I can assure you I’m on the same page with that. You’re not feeling unwell, are you?”

“Cedric!” A shrill voice interrupted. Fleur collapsed to her knees at Cedric’s side, looking painfully gorgeous despite the terror in her voice. “Did you see her? Did you see Gabrielle? The Grindylows…they got me.”

“Yes,” Cedric confirmed, sounding pained. “I saw her. Fleur…I think that—”

There was a loud ringing of a bell then. The time for the task that had been allotted came to a close. Fleur let out a horrific wail that made the hair on the back of my neck stand. Hermione, gasping and cold, crawled up next to me, her lips blue as McGonagall draped a blanket around her shoulders and Sprout handed her a mug.

“W-where’s R-Ron?” She asked me, looking confused.

“Harry has him,” Cedric told her, leaning across me. He nodded firmly. “He’ll be up soon, I’m sure.”

As if he’d heard Cedric at that very moment, I saw a mess of ink-black hair burst through the surface of the lake, followed by a flame of red hair, and then a small, silvery head. Fleur let out a screech of relief that nearly burst my ear drums, and I watched as Ron swam up behind Gabrielle, helping her swim up to the platform. The crowd was going absolutely nuts. Next to me, Hermione slumped, a small smile on her face, as she saw Ron and Harry emerge from the water. I leaned down and stuck out a hand to Harry, who seemed to be struggling with staying afloat, and he clapped his hand into mine. Cedric grabbed his other arm and we pulled him up alongside us, Harry falling onto his back with a loud groan.

“Welcome back on land,” I said, looking down at him. Harry coughed dramatically, spitting up a fair amount of water. Red welts marked his neck.

“I hate water,” he remarked.

“Attention, please!” Ludo Bagman, looking quite flappable in a yellow rain slicker, stood behind us, his wand pointed to his throat to magnify his voice. “Our judges have completed their final tally of points for this task. In fourth place, we have Miss Fleur Delacour, who we reward twenty-five points for her courageousness in the face of the Grindylows. In third, we have Mr. Krum, with forty points, who used advanced transfiguration to complete the task. And in second place—”

Beside me, on either side, I felt Harry and Cedric stiffen.

“We have Mr. Potter, with forty-five points. Mr. Potter did not complete the task in time. However, we find that he did not do so in order to rescue an additional hostage, and reward him these points for showing outstanding moral fiber. And in first place, with an outstanding forty-seven points—”

I didn’t even hear Cedric’s name announced as the winner, because the cheers were so loud. He stood and raised a hand, waving up into the stands, and pulled me up along with him. I couldn’t help but smile as he did—his pride was contagious. And yet—I felt an impending sense of doom, as if I’d just narrowly escaped out my nightmare from the night before—and that it would return again.

*

Spring cropped up as quickly as a weed. When the weather brightened, I liked to sit outside and studying, propping my back up against one of the wiggentrees that overlooked the lake and provided a little shade. That way, I could look down at my book but feel the sun on my shoulders and sometimes, it would lightly kiss my face, turning my freckles a shade darker. Daphne would lay out with me, too, wearing sunglasses to shield her pale, sensitive eyes, and Blaise would come by so they could attach at the mouth without a single word passed between them. Hannah would come on occasion, bringing along some of the Hufflepuffs she was close with. When Cedric had time, he’d swing by and bring food. Sometimes, Cho would accompany him, always with a smile and a compliment for me. But mostly, I sat out here alone, enjoying the quiet whistle of wind on water as I flicked through my books.

I was, however, surprised by someone new one day.

“You want some company?”

I squinted up, seeing Harry move over the brightness of the sun to block it out from my eyes. My notes were littered all over the ground, pinned down by rocks, and I was chewing on the remnants of treacle fudge I’d purchased from Honeydukes.

“Harry, hi.” I moved my books aside. “Sure, sit.”

“I’m meeting Hermione and Ron down here in a bit, I don’t mean to impose.” But he sank to the ground anyway. I offered him a piece of fudge and he took a small sliver, thanking me.

“The final task is in a few days,” I said, earning a small shrug in response. “Are you nervous?”

“A bit.” He looked out over the lake and took a deep breath. “But I faced a dragon and I can’t even swim, and that hasn’t slowed me down yet.”

“No,” I agreed with a smile. “It hasn’t.”

“Is Cedric nervous?”

“I think a bit. I think he actually feels like you do. He asked what third task could possibly hold that the other two haven’t. But I think, you know, his imagination then ran with that. Cho said maybe this will be more about defensive magic, you know. Fighting enchantments and things.”

“Oh,” Harry said, a sudden edge in his voice.

“She could be wrong, of course,” I said hurriedly. “But you’re good at defensive magic, so you should be fine. If that’s even what it is.”

“You know Cho?” He asked, sound a bit faint.

“Of course. She and Cedric have been going out all year.”

“Right.” He was growing remarkably pink, and began fidgeting with his tie, as if it were choking him. “I didn’t know it had been a year, of course. I don’t even really know her. From Quidditch, yeah. I mean, I know she plays.”

He seemed to notice he was babbling, and then fell utterly silent.

“Ah.” I shut my book and crossed my legs. I offered him another piece of fudge. “You fancy her, then?”

“What? Erm. No. No, of course not. Because she’s with Cedric.”

“It’s okay.” I shrugged. “You can fancy her. As long as you don’t try to steal her out from my brother.”

He looked like a deer caught in the lights; eyes wide, unblinking. Panic across his brow. I didn’t say aloud that it was alright to fancy her since I knew she’d never hurt Cedric, would never change her course on him.

“I wouldn’t…I’d never…”

“Joking, Harry.” I sighed. “It’s alright. Isn’t that something everyone goes through? Fancying someone they can’t have?”

“Do you fancy someone?” He asked in return.

“No,” I said quickly.

I fought to keep the image of Draco from popping to the front of the mind, as if he deserved a place in my thoughts at all. I hadn’t spoken to him in months now. Not since that morning after the Yule Ball. How I had been the one to bruise his ego that night, I wasn’t sure, but he’s avoided me like the plague. Pansy seemed rather thrilled by the undivided attention and had taken to loudly recounting his jokes to Millicent in the dormitory where we could all hear. I squinted out towards the lake. “I just assumed that was a universal piece of angst. Pining and all that.”

“I don’t like it all that much,” Harry said, with a shrug. “I mean, obviously. If I could change it, I would. Like maybe I could like someone who…”

“Someone available.”

“Yes, that. She picked well, in Cedric.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I picked at the corner of my parchment.

“What?”

“What do you mean, what?”

“Your tone. You don’t think she picked well?”

“Oh, no. Not like that. Of course she did. Ced’s the best. I just…” I cocked my head and laid my quill down next to my book before biting at one of my nails. “He’s always the best. That’s what is so good about him. But it would be nice to have someone look at me that way. That’s all.”

“People look at you that way,” Harry insisted. “I know for a fact that Seamus Finnegan thinks you are beautiful. That’s the word he used, beautiful. And if…you know…I think if I wasn’t so miserable in fancying someone I can’t have, I might…”

He trailed off as I stared at him.

“But you’re not available,” I finished, and he nodded in agreement.

“Yeah.” He took another piece of fudge and nibbled on the end. “You know that you’re quite a good listener? It’s very easy to talk to you.”

“I like when people vent to me. Makes me feel important.”

“Cathartic. Can I vent to you more, on occasion?”

“Anytime.”

I heard, at that moment, Hermione’s laugh—unmistakably loud, from behind the tree. She and Ron made their way down the sloped path, coming to a skidding halt near our feet. I offered them both a piece of fudge—she refused, Ron accepted—as Harry got to his feet.

“Hey, about the third task,” Harry said, brushing off his hands. “Cedric shouldn’t even be nervous.”

“You’re tied for first,” I pointed out. “He’s only nervous about losing.”

“Small chance of that,” Harry joked, backing away with Ron and Hermione. “S’you later, Logan.”

And they left, huddled together like they always were. I could still hear his words even as they went. _If I wasn’t so miserable in fancying someone I can’t have, I might…_ Like there was a hint of affection there, conditional as it was. I wondered if there was a place in which we could let go of that terrible craving; where maybe Harry and I would both be _available_ to each other. Where I’d suddenly feel like someone was looking at me like—

No. I didn’t want to think of the way Draco had looked at me that night at the Yule Ball. Firewhiskey on his breath, his hand nearly at the nape of my neck. The way he’d breathed my name. _Logan._ I grabbed my things and gathered them up in my arms, standing abruptly and sending gravel flying out from under my shoes as I dusted off my skirt. I rounded the tree and began to stalk up to the Castle, startling a pack of first year Ravenclaws as I went.

I’d just trotted down the stairs towards the Dungeons when I heard voices, hissing back and forth at each other. I paused, coming to a full stop, and trained an ear to listen.

“You can’t keep cancelling plans!” I felt a bead of sweat roll down my back. It was Pansy’s voice, arching at a new level of shrill, and bounding off the dungeon walls. “I’m starting to think you _never_ want to see me.”

“I don’t _keep_ cancelling plans.” It was Draco with her, his voice unmistakable. I could almost hear the sneer in his tone as he combatted with her. “I never make them to begin with, you just presume I want to go places with you.”

“Should I not presume? I thought that you were supposed to want to spend time with someone, supposed to when…”

“When what?”

“When you like someone.” There was a tense silence, and then—“you don’t like me, do you?”

More silence.

“Is it her? You like her, don’t you?”

“Who?”

“Diggory.”

My heart pummeled in my chest, and I gripped my books even tighter. _I like you_ , he’d said that night. A statement I attributed to his being drunk. Being an ass. Not something serious. Not…

“Diggory?” He spat, and then repeated it: “Diggory?”

“You’re not denying it.” Pansy let out a sound that sounded like a cross between a snarl, a choke, and a sob.

“I can’t believe you’d even suggest something like that. That’s why.”

“Don’t talk to me,” Pansy said, and I heard her turn on her heel. “I’m going back to the Dormitory. Don’t follow me. Don’t even look at me, Draco.”

I waited until I heard her footsteps fade away, entirely, heard the deep rattling gust of Draco’s sigh before I stepped out from behind the wall. Draco was standing with his back to me, and I watched as he ran a hand over the back of his head before he tucked his hands in his pockets, hanging his head slightly. I felt nearly sick, and my legs quivered where I stood, before I took a firm step.

“Erm,” I said, and he spun around, hand going to his wand. “Sorry. Just needed to pass by.”

“Were you lurking?” He asked, incredulously. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” I repeated, dumbly.

“Don’t play dumb with me, Diggory. You heard her, didn’t you? Pansy?”

I looked up towards the ceiling, avoiding his eyes.

“Maybe some of it. Yeah. I didn’t…think I should interrupt.”

“You didn’t interrupt anything.”

“No? It sounded like something.”

“We’d have to be discussing something important, and we weren’t. She was just…well, she was talking about you. Not important.”

“Oh?” I flared a bit and drew myself up straight, looking him in the eye. “Clarify something for me, won’t you? You say I’m not important, but you’ve also said that you like me. You’ve said you don’t think about me, but you seem overtly concerned about who I am seen with, where I am, and what I’m saying. You can’t seem to stop talking about me, actually. So what is it, because I’m getting a bit of whiplash here: do you hate me? Do you actually hate me? Or are you just so utterly, blindly—”

He grabbed me so quickly I didn’t have a chance to finish. My books tumbled out of my arms and crashed onto the floor, spilling across the tiles. Draco gripped my wrists and reeled me in, his chest heaving, and I saw a flicker of something in his eyes that I didn’t understand—

“Let go of me,” I said through clenched teeth, feeling the _zap zap zap_ of his skin as his thumbs were pressed to the soft inside of my wrists.

“Say it. Say you actually hate me and want me to let go.”

I licked my lips. Conjured the words in my mind. _I hate you._ But they kept disappearing like smoke, like I couldn’t grab onto them. I wanted so desperately so spit the words out into his smug face. But instead, I said—

“I don’t hate you.”

And then, without warning, his hand was in my hair. Cupping the back of my head as he pulled me in even closer. I felt my fluttering breath catch in my throat, and I closed my eyes just before his lips crashed into mine. His lips were soft, even as he pressed them harshly against mine, pressing himself into me like he wanted to meld together. My mouth fell open just slightly, and I could taste the peppermint on his breath as his tongue slipped across my lower lip. I gasped, small and involuntary, and I heard him moan under his breath. My hands grasped at his arms, and I dug my fingernails into his skin, feeling the warmth of him, the realness of the boy who _thought_ of me, and then—

He pulled away. I opened my eyes, unable to draw a full breath, and he pressed his forehead against mine, hard. Gently, he ran a thumb across my lower lip, and then he stepped back, his shoe leaving a mark on the splayed pages of my Defense Against the Dark Arts book. Without a word, he regarded me as I stood there; hair askew, chest rising and falling with the realization of what had just happened.

“Logan,” he said, just once. Like a passing greeting. And then he was gone, marching up the stairs towards the Great Hall, his white-blonde hair disappearing behind the corner. I bent to pick up my things, but raised a hand to my lips. I could still taste him.


	10. The Final Task

I woke the next morning feeling uncharacteristically bouncy for the early hour. Daphne, Pansy, and Millicent were all still dead asleep, so I quietly got dressed, tucking my button down into my skirt and pushing my hair back with a satin emerald headband. I pulled on knee socks and my shoes, grabbed a cardigan, and slipped out of the Dormitory. I swung by the kitchens, taking care to tickle the pear on the portrait with a light finger until it turned into a handle that I pulled on. The house elves, ever eager to please, poured me a traveler of coffee and bowed when I thanked them. I sipped it deeply before ambling out of the Castle.

A light mist had wrapped around the Castle and the grounds, coming up to my ankles. The sun shone through it, making it glitter like diamonds. I felt the morning air bite my face and my neck with refreshing teeth, and I made my way down towards the lakefront, where I’d been sitting less than twenty-four hours earlier. On the day that…

I still couldn’t believe it. It was like some fever dream come to life. Never had I truly contemplated being kissed like that, let alone at all. And never by him. In my mind, kisses always seemed to come at the end of some bounding concerto. But he’d kissed me out of the blue, and even thinking of it made my knees quiver like they were ready to give out. I leaned back against my familiar tree, watching as Owls and Sparrows swooped low over the surface of the lake. The giant squid shot out a tentacle arm, grabbing a sparrow midair.

“Oi.”

I hadn’t heard him approaching until he spoke. When I heard his voice, I felt him against me, like I was still grasping at him while he pressed his lips to mine. I swiveled my head back, and saw Draco standing a few feet back, squinting at me in the brightness of the morning air. He wore a forest green-knit sweater that made his skin even look more pale than usual, and crisply tailored black pants. He hadn’t slicked back his hair yet this morning, and it parted softly down the middle.

“Hi.” I felt a burst of excitement mingled with uncertainty. The intimacy between us flickered. How would I greet someone who…I didn’t know how to greet someone I’d embraced hours ago. “How did you…?”

“Find you? You’re not the only person who sits out here.” He pointed at a leaning beech tree. “That’s where I sit.”

“That’s a good spot.” I fiddled with the lid of the mug of coffee. “Do you want some?”

“No, that’s alright.” He took a few steps towards me, and I resisted the urge to back away, my nerves on edge. “I actually…I came here to apologize.”

“Oh.” I felt my heart falter in my chest. It must have shown across my face, flickered across my features, because he took another step forward, his brows sloping up, and shook his head.

“I just…erm…feel like I ignored what you were saying, about whiplash.”

“I just couldn’t tell if you hate me. Hated me? Maybe still hate me.”

“Jesus, Diggory. I don’t hate you. I mean…maybe I did, but it wasn’t for a real reason. I think I might…” he trailed off again, looking frustrated. He kicked out at the ground. “Are you going to tell anyone what I say?”

“No. Who would I tell? Besides, I’m in this too. Are you going to tell anyone what I say?”

“No.” He took a deep breath. “It’s frustrating, that’s what I’m trying to say. You’re quite clever and sharp-tongued and sometimes mean, and it infuriates me when you speak to me in the way you do, because no one talks to me like that.”

“I’m not sorry.”

“See? Like that.” Miraculously, he smiled. “It infuriates me because I should hate it but all I want is to hear you talk. All I want is to talk back because when you get angry, your nostrils flare a bit and you blush—”

“I do not!” Mortified, I raised a hand to my cheek, flattening my palm and fingers against the skin as if to conceal it from him.

“You do too. I’ve seen it happen a million times because I can’t stop looking at you. I can’t stop trying to make you blush and get miffed at me, like this weird compulsion, and I think that I want to hate you in so many ways, but I just don’t. I can’t. For some reason.”

“Well, I…” I thought back on the buttons I’d pressed. The way I’d taken small, savage pleasure in watching him grow angry with me, liked knowing my very presence disrupted him. And then, the smaller, tender ways he’d shown himself to me; putting me out of harm’s way, the way he spoke to me at the Yule Ball, the way his hand had cupped the back of my head before…I was blushing, even now. “I’ve already told you I don’t hate you.”

“So, you like me?”

On defensive instinct, I raised a finger. “I didn’t say that.”

“Say it, then.”

He came closer, still. I could see that small threads of silver had been woven throughout his sweater. My back was pressed against the tree, and I dug my heels into the ground, lifting my chin to appear taller. Draco smirked, placing a hand above my head as he leaned over me. With his other hand, he lifted the coffee from my fingers and tossed it away.

“I was drinking that!”

“Say it.” His command came out as a low purr, and I felt a tingle run down my arms and spine.

“Make me.”

And then he was kissing me again. His hands cupped my face and his thumbs brushed over my cheekbones, and I grabbed his hips, hooking my fingers through the belt loops and tugging him closer. I felt, deep in my chest, a sort of animalistic greed when he touched me, like I could never get enough of it. He grabbed my hands in his and pinned them against the tree and I shivered, though I wasn’t cold at all.

“Say it.” I grabbed his hair now, slipping a hand free, and pulled his head back so I could look him in the eyes. His hair was as soft and fine as corn silk, but he chuckled darkly as I grabbed a fistful, smiling wide with half-lidded eyes.

“I like you,” he admitted, slipping a hand up to my throat. He ran his fingers down the side of my neck, drawing goosebumps with his fingers, his smirk growing even wider as he felt my body tremble under his touch.

“I like you,” I reciprocated, the words wrenched from me only as I watched him smile. The playful roughness fell away at the words, and I felt uncomfortably soft until he reached out and pushed my hair back, his fingers light as they brushed the top curve of my ear. “What now?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “You don’t know?”

“No.”

“So then I suppose we just…don’t know, together?”

At that moment, inexplicably, I thought of Cedric. The last task was tomorrow. The Castle air had been tight with tension in the weeks past. Maybe it would loosen after tomorrow. He’d win, and he’d be in such a good mood, my brother. Nothing could bring him down once he’d hold that Cup in his hand…

“Let’s keep this between us,” I suggested, in a small voice. “At least until after tomorrow. There’s…”

“You want him to be in a good mood, before he ever finds out? He hates me that much.”

“Cedric doesn’t hate anyone. But it might be a tough pill to swallow for…a few reasons. I’ve complained about you, here and there.”

“I don’t doubt it.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips, very lightly, to my neck. I stifled a small groan. “We’ll talk tomorrow, then?”

“Can you wait that long?”

“Hardly. You’re always frustrating me, Diggory.”

“Likewise.”

He raised my hand in his, and just brushed my knuckles with his lips. And then he left, the mist on the grounds parting for him as he went. I stood in his wake, marked with his scent and basking in his touch, wondering how someone who’d infuriated me for so long could also be the boy who drew me in with a magnetic stare.

*

The Champions tent was once again crowded with nerves, leaving very little room for the rest of us to breathe. My parents and I huddled around Cedric like soldiers around their leader. He was polishing his wand nervously on his shirt—bearing the yellow and black of his house. A few feet away, I could see Harry being pulled into a bone-crushing hug by Ron Weasley’s mother. I could see Fleur Delacour chatting rather animatedly with one of Ron’s older brothers, and Krum was speaking in a harsh-sounding language with a woman who looked just like him, but with a different haircut.

“You’ve got all the basic defensive jinxes down?” My father asked, immediately going into a stance that made my mother roll her eyes with embarrassment. Cho had been right—it had been revealed that the Third Task was a hedge maze but rumored to be filled with different tests of magic we’d not seen the champions perform before.

_I heard there’s dementors in the maze_ , someone had said at breakfast.

_No, they brought in a sphinx!_

_That’s a griffin, idiot._

“Yes, Dad.” Cedric said good-naturedly. He was calmer than he’d been before the first two tasks, though I knew this was because he’d had the time to mentally prepare. Nothing could lurk behind hedges that was worse than a dragon, worse than learning how he’d hold his breath for an hour. Besides—he had a leg up here, he and Harry were to enter before the others, since they were tied for first.

“Stunning?”

“Yes.”

“Disarming?”

“Of course.”

“Patronus, even?”

“Yes, it’s—”

“Stop it, Amos.” My mother straightened Cedric’s collar. “But you will be careful, won’t you?”

Luckily, at that moment, Mr. Weasley came forward to shake my parent’s hands and greet them. Cedric tugged me aside, and I relented. Outside the tent, I could hear the metallic pinging of instruments playing, heard the crackle of excitement in the stands.

“Can you do me a favor?” Cedric asked. Out of his pocket, he dug out a thick gold ring. It bore the Hufflepuff crest. He pressed it into my hand. “I forgot to give it to Cho, but she gave her house ring as a good luck charm. Thought I’d try to reciprocate.”

“Sure. Just now?”

“If you could, yeah.”

“Cedric.” I thought briefly of the dream I’d had months earlier. His body cold and unmoving in the lake. Unblinking eyes that bored into mine. The vision of his eyes like that hadn’t budged from my mind, though I’d fought to keep it at bay and hadn’t dared discuss it with him.

“Yeah? You nervous for me?” He flicked a finger on the tip of my nose, causing me to sputter and shake my head. He broke out into a smile, his nose scrunching up.

“No,” I lied. “Listen, I know you’re going to blow them all away. Tens across the board.”

“We’ll see,” he remarked, but didn’t deny it. “We’re going to celebrate after, in the Hufflepuff common room. Everyone. You’ll come, won’t you? Bring Daphne if you’d like. Hell, bring anyone you want.”

“Anyone?” I asked. The mere suggestion loosened the anxiety that had tightened up my joints. I couldn’t help but snort slightly, thinking of bringing Draco to a party at all, much less in the Hufflepuff house.

“Eh, exercise judgement. No snotty Slytherins.” 

“Right,” I said, with a laugh I couldn’t feel. “Ced, I—”

“Champions, it is that time once again!” Dumbledore burst into the tent, his voice calm despite his rather dramatic entrance. “Please say good bye to your families, it’s time they find their seats to watch the task.”

“Good luck, m’boy.” My father pulled Cedric into a hug, and they clapped each other firmly on the back, once, twice, three times. When my father stepped back, I could see tears of pride filing at his lower lashline. My mother, lifting up onto her tip-toes so she could reach him, kissed Cedric on the cheek.

“Hey,” Cedric said, turning towards me. Our parents mirrored him, looking to me as well. “Do I get a good luck?”

Unable to choke anything out, I rushed at him, wrapping my arms tightly around his middle. Cedric let out a huff of surprise, before he hugged me back. No cheek, no funny comments. Just patted me softly on the back. There were so many things that seemed to loom that I wanted to tell him; to be careful, I wanted his help studying for my Charms final, that I was ready to try out for Quidditch, that I’d…that I’d found someone.

“Logan,” my father said, sounding a tad embarrassed. “Come on, now.”

“I’ll see you after, okay?” Cedric grabbed my shoulders and peeled me off him. His eyes glinted. “Remember. Hufflepuff common room. We’ll sneak you in.”

“Okay. Deal.”

And then my mother guided me away, pushing me out in front of her like a staff, letting go of me once I stepped outside. The dark evening had been alit with torches and in the maze, floating balls of light that travelled along the path ways so the spectators could see the Champions. Professors strolled the perimeter, alert. Up in the stands, just a few rows away from Daphne, I saw Cho waving at me.

“I have to go up,” I told my parents. If they cared, they didn’t try to stop me. Just let me go, dashing off into the student section. Heads turned while I passed, and I heard whispers and words of encouragement alike. I stopped at Cho’s seat.

“How’s he doing?” She asked. She looked calm, her face unwrinkled and hopeful. But I heard the edge in her voice, the same one that made my stomach turn.

“Fine. Good, even.” I dug my hand into the pocket of my robes and pulled out the ring he’d given me. “He asked me to give this to you. Since you gave him yours.”

Cho took the ring delicately, blushing deeply.

“He has mine with him?” She asked.

“Yes,” I said, instinctively, though I couldn’t remember if he said he did. She smiled prettily and slid the ring onto her thumb.

“Do you want to sit with us, Logan?”

But suddenly, I couldn’t hear her. Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle were pushing into the stands. They settled in the seats just behind Daphne. I watched as Draco set his feet on the empty spot next to her, though Daphne turned to protest. Instead of paying attention, his eyes found me. With the smallest smirk, he stretched out even further, and then raised his brows at me. I couldn’t help it—in spite of myself, I smiled. There was a sharp whistle, then. The task had begun.

“It’s alright, thank you! My friend has a seat for me.” I climbed a few rows and edged in next to Daphne. Draco kept his feet on my seat, the smirk on his face growing even wider as I grew closer. Daphne was poking at his expensive loafers with the tip of her wand, but he didn’t seem to notice.

“Move your feet, Malfoy,” I said aloud. “That’s my seat.”

“Has your name on it, Diggory?” But he moved his feet back, and I sat, feeling a tingle in the back of my head as I felt his eyes on me. Daphne turned in her seat to look back at him, and then at me. 

“What?” She queried aloud, narrowing his eyes. ‘What was that? He never listens.”

“Must be feeling generous today.”

From my vantage point, I could see straight down into the center of the maze, where the Cup sat on a pedestal, sparkling like a diamond in the rough. I watched as Krum entered, then Fleur. Fleur was the first to go—I saw her trip and fall, hard, like she couldn’t move. Branches seemed to snake out from the maze and grab her, pulling her under a hedge. I could see Harry, small, and dressed in red, trying to get to her, but he didn’t make it in time.

“Cedric’s making good time,” Daphne pointed out, pointing into the maze. Cedric was growing closer to the center the fastest. But even as we watched, he came across a Blast-Ended Skrewt. I saw him raise his wand, but the Skrewt acted faster—like a rocket, it let off fireball that blazed over Cedric’s arm. Unyielding, it let off another that brushed his leg. I sat up straighter as gasps rocked the crowd. Cedric, quick thinker, cast a severing hex in the hedge, falling forward through it to safety. I heard a few laughs and a smattering of applause.

“Did you see that, Diggory?” Crabbe guffawed loudly. “Your brother got hit.”

“Shut up, Crabbe,” Malfoy dismissed, immediately.

“What?” Crabbe asked, sounding hurt.

“You cheering for Potter or something?” I could feel Draco’s shoe creeping up next to me, his shin about to touch my elbow. “Diggory is the real Hogwarts champion, or have you forgotten?” Confused, as usual, Crabbe fell quiet. I leaned back just enough that my back touched Draco’s knee for a fleeting moment, and then I hunched back over, as if I’d been stretching before surveying the maze.

Krum was acting funny. Pacing, surveying the maze like he couldn’t see things in front of him. Singularly focused, even. I supposed this was the seeker in him, but as I watched him go back and forth like a wind-up toy, I couldn’t help but feel a knot in my stomach. Harry, catching up closer with Cedric, stepped into a golden mist and was frozen upside down. Cedric encountered a boggart, which quickly turned into He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The crowd went quiet, and at almost the same moment, all three champions made decisive moves. Harry stepped forward, reversing the enchantment. Cedric banished the boggart so it began to Irish Jig. And Krum, pulling a leaf from Cedric’s book, pushed his way through a hedge.

All three of them were growing closer, I could see them circling the cup like buzzards. Harry was closest now, and I saw him come to a contemplative stop in front of a Sphinx. And then—

“Logan,” Daphne said, hushed. “Look!”

Cedric had taken the corner closest to the cup. He was almost paces away. I stood, unable to sit still, a hand closed over my mouth. And then—

A bright red light hit Cedric in the chest. I saw him go down, wailing. Hunched in pain like I’d only seen once, in the Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Krum, who had crept out from the darkness, walked forward, holding his wand aloft. He’d cast the cruciatus curse on Ced. At once, I heard Hogwarts students begin to scream foul. I could hear my own heart pumping, felt my breath stutter.

“That’s an unforgiveable curse, that is!” Someone shouted.

Cedric was screaming, I could tell, his body vibrating with pain. I felt a yell building up in me, about to be ripped from my throat, hot tears of anger in my eyes. But before I could make a noise, Harry ran through the hedges, hitting Krum in the back with a stunning spell. He fell, stiff. Harry went to Cedric’s side immediately, offering him a hand to stand. The crowd was on its feet, positively screaming now. Hogwarts would have a champion, no matter who grabbed the cup first.

“He’s done it,” I breathed. I could feel the eyes of my classmates turning onto me, and I didn’t even care. All my pride flooded forth, and I smiled, a small gasp of happiness escaping me. He’d done it. He’d finished. Hands were stretching towards me, trying to shake mine, congratulate me. Daphne squealed aloud and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, jumping up and down. I turned, wanting only the congratulations of the boy with white-blonde hair who sat behind me. But as soon as I turned from the maze, I knew something was wrong. Draco’s smile faded, and I saw students jumping to their feet, pointing towards the maze. I heard yells of shock, some of confusion.

Whipping around, I watched as Harry and Cedric reached out for the cup at the same time. Like they were meant to tie. And then, at the moment they both touched the cup, they disappeared.

“A portkey?” One of the Weasley twins yelled out.

“Is this part of it?” Someone else called.

No one had to say anything for us to realize that something had gone wrong.

*

“Logan?” In the midst of the chaos that had begun to unfold, I collapsed into my seat. Dumbledore had stood at once, his tall, pointed hat rising out above the crowd. I could see McGonagall and Snape at his side, and Mad-eye limping towards them. My parents, sitting near the Professors, looked cheerfully confused, and I saw my father stand. He began to speak with Dumbledore, cocking his head. I saw him scratch his hairline, and then put his hands on his hips.

“Logan?” Daphne repeated, timidly.

“That wasn’t part of it,” I murmured. “That wasn’t supposed to happen. The portkey.”

“I’m sure it’s alright, it’s just some mistake,” she assured me, sounding entirely unconvincing. “Dumbledore will get it sorted.”

“Diggory, here.” Draco nudged my shoulder. I glanced up and saw him offering me a handsome flask, the head carved into a snake with glittering emerald eyes. “Just take a small nip. It’s Daisyroot draught. It will calm your nerves.”

I didn’t hesitate. I snagged the flask from him and took a hearty sip, feeling the bitter liquid swish over my tongue and down my throat. I saw him wince as I did so, but he took it back without word. If anyone found it suspect he’d offered me something, they kept quiet.

“Where did he go?” I whispered. Down in front, it looked like my father had begun to yell. My mother was tugging at his elbow.

“Logan, hey!” Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley were coming up the stairs, fear in their faces. I stood, passing by Daphne and out into the aisle. “Did you know it was a portkey?”

“No, no of course not! How would I…did you know?”

“No one knew,” Hermione said, lowering her voice. She was shaking. “I..I fear this isn’t good.”

“Of course it isn’t, ‘Mione. They just disappear like that?” Ron seemed to notice the look on my face, and hastily added: “They’ll be fine though. Harry and Cedric are going to be fine.”

Minutes ticked by. I sunk down on the stands again, my head beginning to pound. Ron and Hermione crowded near me, looking terrified and concerned, but as lost as I was. A small bud of numbness was quavering in my chest, where the Daisyroot seemed to sit. I gnawed on a ragged thumbnail. I could feel Draco’s eyes on me, watching my every movement, and I closed my eyes, wishing everyone else would just fall away.

It was when I closed my eyes that I heard it. The crack in the air as the Portkey returned. My eyes flew open as I heard cheers and sighs, and the band immediately began to play. People began to jump from their seats in celebration, but I could only see one thing.

Cedric, laying on the ground. His head flopping back as he hit the ground. His eyes open. Just like they’d been in my dream. And Harry, falling onto his knees beside him. Ron and Hermione leapt up at once, and despite the noise around me, I heard him scream; Harry’s terrible, horrific scream, that pulled at my heart. And I knew, right then.

“No.” It came out almost like a question. I couldn’t move. Ron and Hermione began to run down the stands, taking the steps two at a time. I saw the Professors begin to move towards Harry, blocking Cedric from view. He didn’t stand. The cheers had begun to fade as quickly as they’d started.

“Logan.” Draco had come up behind me, in front of everyone. Not caring, not trying to hide. His voice was surprisingly soft, and I barely heard him at all.

“No,” I repeated, defiantly. I grasped the railing. “No, no, no.”

And that’s when I heard my father’s scream. Saw him sprinting across the lawn towards Harry, throwing himself down at Cedric like he could protect him from the watching world. It was the worst sound I’d heard in my whole life. He howled.

“That’s my boy! That’s my boy.”

I heard someone begin to sob.

“No,” I said again, my voice growing louder. No one said a word, no one tried to fight me on it.

“Logan.” Draco came a bit closer, carefully, as if he meant not to spook me. I meant to step forward, but I couldn’t move right, like my legs had simply stopped working. I began to topple forward, but he stuck out an arm, hooking his arm across my chest so I couldn’t move. I felt his breath on the crown of my head, and even though I felt his hands on me, warm, I began to scream.

“No!” I wanted to fly forward, push through everyone, and get to him. He’d sit up if I was there. It was a mistake. The cup shouldn’t have been a portkey, so he couldn’t be dead. He’d just won, we all saw it. Draco held me a bit tighter, to keep me from sinking to the ground. Daphne came forward too, tears running down her face as she grabbed my hands.

“Logan, Logan,” she repeated, trying to still my struggling limbs.

But then, they levitated him up, onto a stretcher. Conjured one out of the air. I saw his body float, lifeless and weightless, onto the white canvas. And I lost it. I broke through Draco’s grasp and pounded down the stairs, hopping over the barricade to the maze like it didn’t even exist. I could hear my mother wailing from far away, but I couldn’t stop. Felt mud flicking my legs, the air rushing behind me as I pumped my arms. Saw my father, huddled in a mass on the ground.

“Cedric!”

Snape caught me before I could throw myself onto the stretcher. Grabbed my shoulders so sturdily that my feet left the ground. I saw something in his eyes— _pain?_ —as he kept me from moving further. Someone had shut Cedric’s eyes.

“He’s gone,” Snape said, with uncharacteristic civility. There were tears streaming down my face and neck. McGonagall had a hand clasped over her mouth, and I could see Sprout, helping my father to his feet. “He’s gone.”

“Just…” I stepped around him, no longer screaming. I reached out onto the stretcher, touched his hand. It had curled into a fist around his wand. His body was cold, but there was still color in his cheeks. Like he’d just been there, just standing and talking and…but he wasn’t. My brother lay dead in front of everyone I knew, but no one could silence the scream I let out, the scream that tore my throat and burned my eyes, the one that brought me to my knees. There was fire in my scream, in my blood and my skin and even my hair, and I couldn't feel anything but scorching pain. In the end, they had to pry me off him as I clung to his chest. Someone gave me a vial that I tried to push away, but then was poured, swiftly, into my mouth. And then, everything went black.


	11. Silence

Someone had carried me up to the castle. Strong hands, scooping me up like I was a child again. I couldn’t move, and my vision was blurred. I couldn’t choke out the tears and screams that lingered in my eyes and throat. But I could hear people all around me, shouting, screeching, crying. Howls of loss that made me want to crawl out of my own skin. I could feel the coldness of his skin still, against my hand, and I gurgled, trying to summon a shriek that never came.

It seemed like forever that someone carried me. Up, and up, as my breathing began to steady, and I saw the blur of the castle lights and heard the hushed murmur of the portraits. I heard someone give a password in a gravelly, unfamiliar tone: _Sherbet Lemon._

“Here, here,” someone was saying then, in a lighter tone. The gentle hands laid me down into the soft cradle of a leather chair, and I heard a low hoot. Despite the blurriness in my eyes, I could see the spinning of silver in the background, and I knew, at once, that I was in Dumbledore’s office. The same high voice continued to speak. “Miss Diggory, it’s Professor Sprout. I’m going to give you a pepper-up potion now, alright?”

I wanted to struggle. I couldn’t see her. I couldn’t find familiarity in the room, and my brother was dead.

“Logan.” I heard my mother’s voice, a husk of her usual tone. “It’s okay.” I felt her hands on the back of my head, tipping it back. My mouth fell open, and I felt a harsh liquid being poured down my throat. I screwed up my eyes and steam erupted from my ears, felt blood rush back into my head and my limbs, and I stirred violently, knocking my mother’s hands away as I sat up straight. I blinked, and the room came into focus. My father was slumped in the chair next to me, eyes open but unseeing. Professor Sprout stood nearby, her face pulled down into an uncharacteristic frown, and I could hear my mother pacing the floor behind me. Hagrid stood by, petting the Phoenix in the corner, who let out a sad, mellow cry as I opened my eyes.

“What’s happening?” I asked. Sprout looked to my parents, who ignored me. I turned in my seat, glancing up around the office. The portraits were not even pretending to be tactful as they gaped down at me.

“Dumbledore will be here soon.” Sprout moved forward. I could feel her hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me. I had almost forgotten she was Cedric’s head of house. She’d known him like another parent. When I looked up at her, I could see tears swimming in her eyes. “He’ll explain.”

I blinked and nodded. The phoenix swept up then, circling once over my head, and then landed on the arm of my chair. It bowed its head, as if to offer its own apology. Tentatively, I stroked its plume with a finger, and it let out another somber cry that shook through my bones. The clock ticked by, and no one said a word. My father didn’t move, but my mother continued to pace, the shuffle of her shoes on the floor a constant.

“I’m sorry to keep you waiting.” Those were Dumbledore’s first words as he came though the door to his office. The phoenix straightened. “Fawkes, you know what must be done.”

Funny enough, the Phoenix seemed to nod. And then it took flight, disappearing in a bright flash.

“Hagrid,” Dumbledore said, and Hagrid grunted. “Plans must be made. Tell the others.”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore Sir.” Hagrid strode from the office. Sprout resolutely stood at the arm of my chair, and Dumbledore sank down behind his desk. He sighed deeply and adjusted his glasses, looking grimmer than I’d ever seen him. He fixed his gaze upon my father, then my mother, and then on me.

“I want to offer my apologies first. I am sure you’re all in shock now, and you’d like answers. But I want to proceed by telling you that Hogwarts was, and remains, devoted to your son. We feel your loss, and we—”

“What happened?” My father croaked, and Dumbledore inclined his head.

“The Cup was a Portkey. We’ve just discovered that one of our Hogwarts Professors was actually…well, he was no Professor at all. Professor Moody’s Identity was stolen out from him by use of the Polyjuice Potion. There has been a Death Eater in our midst this year, plotting. Waiting.”

“Polyjuice? Who was it, Dumbledore?” Sprout asked, at the same time the rest of my mother and I put forth our questions:

“Death Eater?”

“Plotting what?”

Dumbledore held up a calm hand that made my blood boil. As if it were his loss, as if his body didn’t ache for answers.

“Barty Crouch Jr. has been posing as Professor Moody all year. He transfigured the Cup before Harry and Cedric got to it, I’m afraid.” I almost scoffed. I thought of how Mad-Eye had shown us the Unforgivable Curses on the first day of class. A lesson dripping in vigilance, I’d thought, at the time. But now I realized, a cruel exhibition of his true nature.

“Barty Crouch Jr. is dead,” my mother said, tonelessly. “We all remember the trial.”

“Yes, we do. But it seems that his mother and father managed to smuggle him out of Azkaban using Polyjuice themselves. Tonight, Mr. Crouch planned to transport Harry Potter to the ancestral home of Voldemort.” We all flinched at the name, but he continued. “Mr. Crouch helped to facilitate an extremely Dark ritual, using Mr. Potter’s blood, that has returned Voldemort to his body.”

“And Cedric?” I asked. I thought of how I’d seen my brother, his steps syncing with Harry’s, as they made to grab the Triwizard Cup together. “What did they plan for him?”

Dumbledore sighed deeply, his beard fluttering slightly.

“It is my great sadness to say that there was no plan for Cedric. He was a true innocent who evaded Mr. Crouch’s attempts to ensure Mr. Potter’s win. He was transported to Little Hangleton with no purpose for this evening’s event.”

“So what you’re saying…” my father said, shifting in his chair and speaking for the first time. “Is that my son was killed by chance? By a Death Eater, during some ritual to return the Dark Lord to his body?”

“Yes.” Dumbledore said, simply, crossing his hands. “I understand this is quite a lot to process. And it may seem quite unlikely, but Mr. Crouch admitted to this under the influence of veritaserum. Harry Potter confirms his story. He bears the scars used in ritual. This is the truth.”

There was a beat of silence in the room.

“Can we talk to him?” My mother broached. “Harry?”

“Violet,” my father began, but she cut him off.

“No, Amos. No. I want to hear what happened to our son. I want to hear it.”

“Perhaps at a later time. Harry is obviously distraught and disturbed by the events of this evening. We have given him a powerful sleeping draught so that he can get some rest.”

One thing, two words, had stuck with me this whole time. Dangling over my conscience.

“Professor?” I ventured. “You said a Death Eater made this plan. But…if he’s back…wouldn’t they all want that? Wouldn’t they have planned it too?”

Dumbledore regarded me over his half-moon glasses, for a long moment, before speaking.

“I believe this is the work of a few, very dedicated followers of Voldemort. But I have no doubt that the rest of the Death Eaters may have hoped or known this was on the horizon. They’ve been growing bolder, stronger. You were at the Quidditch World Cup, witnessed those horrors. That was merely a taste. They will be called back into his service, yes.”

“Who?” I choked. I curled my hands around the arm of the chair. “Names, I want to know their names. Who they are.”

“I cannot tell you,” Dumbledore said simply. “There were many names thrown around, but never confirmation. I do not wish to implicate those who played no role in tonight’s events. Certainly not while we unpack our grief.”

I stood. Hating his tone, his patronizing stare. How he preached to me now, patience. As if he hadn’t just said _Voldemort_ had returned. As if he hadn’t just shared that my brother had been murdered as he searched to bring glory to his school, to his friends, his family. My father didn’t even glance at me as I shoved the chair aside to leave.

“Logan,” my mother said, her voice rattling. “Where are you going?”

“Bed,” I snapped, my voice shaking uncontrollably. My skin was hot with rage, but no one moved. No one tried to stop me as I went out the door.

I could hear Cedric in my ear as I rushed down the stairs. _He said they were Death Eaters? He wasn’t really asking, Logan. He knew._ People on the staircases stopped in my wake, pressed themselves against the wall as I passed them by. I could sense their fear as they saw me pass, bodies parting like the mouth of a river to let me through. I ran down the stairs to the Great Hall, passed the Dungeons, and out into the night air. The torches of the Castle dimmed in my wake, and I lit my wand, holding it aloft as I ran towards the lake.

He was waiting, as I knew he would be, at my tree, leaning against it with his arms crossed. He looked up as I dashed towards him, my feet sinking into the grass, and moved forward.

“Logan,” he choked out, his arms limp by his side. I stopped, breathing heavily, Cedric in my ear. _He's selfish to the point that it borders on danger, Logan._

“Did you know?” I demanded. My voice didn’t sound like my own. “Did you know what was going to happen to him?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The Portkey,” I hissed. “Turns out it was a trap. It was only meant for Harry. Placed by Death Eaters, so they could use him in some sort of ritual. To get…so _he_ could return. He’s got his body back.”

Draco’s jaw went slack.

“ _He?_ ”

“You know. You know exactly who I’m referring to. My brother is dead, they _murdered_ my brother!”

Fear lived in his eyes, and he took a shaky breath. He shook his head emphatically, his hair coming out of place. I raised my wand, aimed it. Pointed it at his throat. He raised his hands, slowly.

“Logan, I didn’t. I didn’t know. I never would have…Do you think I would have let you go on, not knowing? That I wouldn’t have…warned you, somehow?”

“Yes, yes, I do think that.” I cocked my head, watching him. “Draco Malfoy, son of Death Eaters. Pure Blood Fanatic. Basic logic, isn’t it? That’s what you told me, the day they appeared at the World Cup. I’m using it now.”

“No,” he insisted, and took a step forward. In warning, I cast a jinx at his feet, burning a hole in the grass. He stopped where he stood, his eyes widening. “Listen, okay? Listen to me. I care about you, even if it hasn’t always seemed like that. It’s a front, Logan. Use that logic. You know I care. I saved you that night, didn’t I? It’s because I l—”

“Don’t!” I hollered so loudly that I felt my own hair stand on end. Goosebumps raised on my skin. “Don’t pretend, for a moment, that you care. You can’t use your ignorance here, Malfoy. That isn’t a shield. You’re one of them, as far as I’m concerned. You always have been. I never should have thought otherwise.”

“Please.” That was all he said. “Please.”

“I don’t want you near me ever again.” I wiped my brow, wiped the hot tears of rage from my cheeks. “I know where your loyalties lay. Your words mean nothing to me, not when I have to bury my brother.”

And I turned my back on him then. Not fast enough, not before I saw the hurt in his eyes. Not before I saw his jaw quiver and his head turn, like I’d slapped him across the face. And for some reason, his hurt infuriated me all the more.

“Come near me again, and I’ll jinx you into oblivion,” I said, just loud enough for him to hear.

With that, I left him. Standing out in the dark by himself, as my anger and grief carried me back, pumping through my arms and legs like an extra heart.

*

They gave my parents Cedric’s winnings. Not the Cup, which had been presumably destroyed. But the large pouch of galleons he’d won--1,000 in total. Cornelius Fudge had presented it to them, rather harried and awkward about the whole thing. He’d tried to shake my father’s hand, who’d refused it. He was huffy at the refusal, but I felt a rush of affection to my father; we’d heard him and Dumbledore having a row right before we’d walked into the room. Fudge denied Harry’s story, denied that someone had murdered Cedric. But all I could think of was how my brother had looked, dead on the ground.

Harry had been brought into the Hospital Wing, but at his insistence, asked we join him. Dumbledore left us with Harry, Madam Pomfrey hovering outside the door like an anxious guard. He was having a hard time making eye contact with my parents, and his eyes continued to fall to me. His left arm had been wrapped in a bandage that drew my parent’s eyes, and silence befell us before Harry spoke.

“I wanted to say how sorry I am,” he began. “About Cedric. He…he helped me throughout the Tournament, you know. As much as he could.”

“That was the kind of person he was,” my mother croaked, a hand on her chest. “Helping others.”

“Yes. A good person. He was always kind, too, even though we were supposed to compete. And just, very talented.”

“He…it was quick, wasn’t it?” My mother queried. “It happened quickly?”

“He didn’t suffer,” Harry assured her, and my throat grew tight.

“Good.” My mother swallowed tears and nodded. “He just…he knew that he’d just won, didn’t he? He was happy.”

“Yes,” Harry replied. And without much warning, my mother swooped down on him, hugging him tightly. I saw Harry close his eyes, and he patted her arm before she let him go. When she drew away, I could see black streaks on her cheeks. Harry looked to my father. “Sir, I—”

“It’s not your fault,” my father interrupted. He said it with kind force and stood up a bit straighter. I hadn’t seen him speak like this in the past twenty-four hours. He still wore his clothes from last night, and his eyes drooped with exhaustion. “I’m glad someone was there with him. I’m glad it was you.”

I saw the Adam’s Apple in Harry’s throat bob as he swallowed, quite hard, and I felt the urge to crawl into the bed beside him and lay down. Close my eyes and put my head on his chest and listen to his heartbeat. I couldn’t form words for how appreciative I was for him, so instead, I just grabbed his hand in mine and squeezed. He squeezed back.

“We’ll leave you,” my mother said, wiping at her nose with a tissue. “But we want you to have this.”

She seized the bag of galleons Fudge had presented her with and pressed it into Harry’s arms.

“No, I can’t.”

“Please,” my father said. “We can’t take it either.”

Some understanding seemed to pass between them, then. Harry took the galleons without protest, shifting the sack onto his bedside table. My parents began to leave, looking for me to follow.

“Just…can I have a moment, please?” I asked. Harry nodded, as if to say that was alright, and my parents left, the door to the wing shutting behind them.

“It seems stupid to ask how you are,” he said. My hand still rested in his.

“I was thinking the same about you.”

“I’m terrible.”

“I’m awful.” I sighed and gripped his hand a bit more tightly. “I don’t want to ask, but I have to. What you saw, last night. Death Eaters?”

“All of them,” he confirmed. “They came when he called.”

I nodded. “I just need to know one. One name.”

“Which?”

“Malfoy.”

He paused, his glasses slipping down his nose, before he nodded.

“Yes, Lucius Malfoy was there.”

“Did he…did he kill…” 

“No,” Harry rushed to say. “The person who killed Cedric is named Peter Pettigrew. He’s the man who betrayed my parents. He’s been waiting years for this, and Cedric was just…”

“There,” I finished. “In the way.”

“Yeah.”

I looked towards the ceiling. If I looked down any more, I knew tears would fall from my eyes. They hadn’t stopped, and I didn’t know if I’d ever run out of tears to shed.

“Did he have a chance?” I asked. “Cedric?”

“No. Neither of us did.” A pause. “Logan, I am so sorry. I wish—”

“Please don’t.” I slid my hand from his. The corners of my mouth jerked up into the imitation of a smile, as if I meant to reassure him and placate myself. “My mum was right. I was just glad you were there for him when I couldn’t be. And you brought him back to us. That’s all I could ask for.”

Harry lapsed into silence. I leaned down, careful of his arm, and wrapped my arms around his neck. I felt his hand on my back, running over my spine, and I closed my eyes.

“Thank you,” I murmured into his ear.

*

On the Monday following Cedric’s death, fourteen letters arrived at our home. They arrived by owl, one by a very confused Muggle Postman, three popped up in the toaster. My mother lay in bed, unable to get up. My father had taken to roaming the house finding things to fix that weren’t broken. 

“Too busy to read!” He’d said, watching me collect the letters from the beak of a yellow-eyed owl, and then going upstairs to fix the washroom sink. I sorted through the letters—from Augusta Longbottom, Amelia Bones, The Abbott Family, the Prewett Family. One from the Minister himself, one from Professor Sprout. In the middle of the stack was one from Daphne, addressed to me. And at the end, one more letter addressed to me, with the surname “Potter” on the envelope. I took the letters outside, into the garden. I shooed the gnomes away from a flutterby bush, and sunk to the ground, crossing my legs.

I reached for Daphne’s letter first.

_Dear Logan,_

_Every way to open a letter sounds stupid. I miss you so much. We had a memorial for Cedric yesterday. The hall was covered in black sashes and curtains. Everyone was crying as Dumbledore gave an eulogy. I do wish you’d heard it—I’ve never heard Dumbledore say such kind things about a student. But Cedric deserved it. Do you know that once, in the library, he’d come to me when looking for you? I thought he didn’t know me, but he knew my name. Asked me how I was. Even helped me with a question I had on my charms homework. Remember when I blew up the bookshelf in the charms classroom? That was because Cedric had taught me that Bombarda was more powerful if you put your weight on your back foot as you cast it._

_He helped me, just because._

_Write to me, soon. Let me know how you’re doing. Maybe I’ll come to see you._

I folded her letter, held it against my chest, briefly. I could almost hear his voice explaining it. Patient, even though he’d never come to the library to help her.

I picked up Harry’s, next.

_Logan,_ it began, simply. _I lost a friend. He wasn’t my brother. I can’t even imagine. I can’t imagine growing with someone and knowing them and loving them as you loved Cedric. And the fact that your brother was Cedric, of all people…it couldn’t have been a harder loss, knowing who he was. I keep dreaming of him. Are you dreaming of him, too? If you felt like telling me about it, you could write to me._

I thought of Harry, spending his summer in a muggle suburb far from where I was. Sitting in a darkened room _,_ his back glued to the mattress with sweat. The memory of my brother drifting in and out of his dreams like a phantom. I felt an itch in my fingers. I hadn’t dreamt of Cedric yet—I’d found it was hard to sleep at all, and when I did, it was only darkness that stretched beyond my eyelids. A small part of me wanted to reach out to Harry, slip my hand into his like I had in the hospital wing. Just a reassurance that some part of my brother lived on, even beyond the day we’d lowered his casket into the ground.

I pressed my hand to his signature, and then placed his letter down next to Daphne’s. Inside, there were more letters that would aim to offer comfort, share kind words and assurances, maybe even more memories. But what spoke louder was the silence. Not the silence in my home, not the silence in my room, not the silence that fell between my parents, not even the silence in my own mind.

I’d told him to leave me alone, never speak to me again. Threatened him. And Draco had listened, retreating away into one of the faceless students that I merely went to school with. But beyond that, he’d fallen back into the circle of his pureblood family, the people who’d stood by when my brother was murdered. Simultaneously, I craved the feeling of him near, but shuddered at the thought of how his hands had been on my body. It split me down the middle, and I wanted to scream, but found that all I could do was sink down, down, into the silence that swallowed me whole and alive.


	12. The Whispers of Loss

I did not usually dream of Cedric, as Harry did. My dreams began, silken black, brought on by sleeping droughts. And when I didn’t need them to fall asleep any longer, the dreams transformed into dark visions—flashes of green light, unfamiliar laughter, the sound of bodies hitting the floor. Sometimes, I’d see vivid flashes of terror; contorted bodies, blood running rivers, metal sinking into flesh.

But then, more vivid than the others, I began to dream of the Dark Lord, draped in all black, robes that seemed to move like smoke around his snake-like body. It was the same dream every time. I stood in an unfamiliar room, constructed of dark wood, with a tiered chandelier in the ceiling. A snake circled me like prey, and the Dark Lord sat on a high-backed chair that looked like it had been carved from rich, expensive wood.

_Join me,_ he hissed, extending a hand.

I wanted to say no, scream, spit. But my mouth had disappeared, leaving only a stretch of skin across my face. I panicked, raising my hands to my face, searching for my lips.

_There is no denying me,_ he hissed again, rising to his feet. He would glide towards me, seemingly weightless, until I realized: he was walking across corpses, neatly lined up like a path. Trampling on Harry’s chest, his bare feet moving across Cedric’s torso, and then, pausing, upon Draco. His eyes were still open, his mouth ajar and I could see his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. His lips faintly moved—like he wanted to call to me, but then the Dark Lord stepped down on him, his bare feet turning Draco’s cheek into the ground, and blood began to flow from Draco’s lips, and I could not speak or scream.

*

When I had this dream, I’d wake with a start. I’d glance around the darkness, searching for danger that lurked in the corners of my empty bedroom. But more often than not, I’d just see Merlin, hunched at the end of my bed, his eyes glowing in the darkness as he meowed with concern. I’d push open the door just enough to slide out of my room and wander down the hall, pushing open the door to Cedric’s bedroom. 

My parents didn’t touch it. Didn’t go near it. Kept the door closed, as if they could trap memories of him in there. But I’d go in, sit on the edge of his bed. Run my hand along the bookshelf, examining his old copies of comics: _Loony Nonby vs. The Cornish Pixie._ Turn on the record player, rifle through his collection of Spellbound albums, and select one to play. Crack open the window and collapse onto his bed, looking up at the poster of the Chudley Cannons seeker he’d affixed to the ceiling with a sticking charm.

And after a while, sitting with myself, I’d reach for his books, and his notes. His textbooks, scribbled with notes in the columns. His research from the Triwizard Tournament. Stood in front of his mirror, repeating the spells to myself. _Confringo. Defodio. Colloshoo._ Advanced jinxes, hexes, counter-spells. Memorizing the manner in which they rolled off my tongue. Knowing that the day would come where my dream wasn’t a dream anymore. That I’d stand where Cedric once stood, and I’d be ready. I’d avenge him.

*

When the mail came for my fifth year, the customary Hogwarts envelope heavy as I untied it from the Owl’s leg, I felt surprised to see my name on the envelope. It was as if I’d forgotten that Hogwarts was waiting for me, that I had a life outside the one I’d lived all summer. I’d written back and forth with Daphne and Hannah the best I could, slipping at times in responses until they’d follow up. It was usually the same.

_How are you?_ They’d write, and then explain some of their summer adventures.

_Oh, you know_ , I’d reply vaguely, neglecting to mention that I spent all my time indoors, dropping weight, growing pale.

It was Harry I found myself writing to the most, his replies coming late in the night attached to the leg of the snowy owl who enjoyed being pet. When I put my quill to parchment, knowing Harry would be reading my response, I found that some of my shellshock, some of my trauma wore away with the flow of ink. That I knew someone would grasp my meaning.

_I listen to the radio constantly, go through bins looking for muggle papers like a dog,_ he’d written last week. _I keep thinking I’ll see something about Him. Like muggles disappearing._

_When you do,_ I wrote back, _we will be ready._

So when the Owl flew to the kitchen window, tapping lightly against the glass and emitting a low, singular hoot, I took the letter into my hand with surprise. My mother, sitting at the table, looking blank in the eyes, turned towards me but didn’t ask. She’d just managed to start coming downstairs during the day, but didn’t speak much. My father had gone back to work, his hours growing longer than they had before.

Standing at the sink, I opened the envelope, starting when something silver fell into my hand. I turned it over and saw a pin glinting in my palm. I recognized it instantly—it looked almost just like the one Cedric had worn on his robes—Prefect. I’d forgotten the silliness of it all, the construct of sitting in a classroom, writing out homework. That I’d now be expected to uphold some other responsibilities in a world where threats plagued us, every single moment.

“What’s that?” My mother asked, folding a towel in her hands over and over. In a different world, I would have leaped at the news. Been so eager to show them, my parents, that I could do it too. They’d probably have offered a half-hearted congratulation, less impressed as they would have been by Cedric’s badge. Cedric though, he would have ruffled my hair, poked fun at the thought of me abusing my power.

“Nothing,” I said with a shrug, and pocketed my badge. “Just my school letter.”

*

On September 1st, my father drove me to the train station alone, in a self-driving car he’d borrowed from work. My mother stayed home and looked surprised to hear school was restarting.

“Already?” She’d asked, eyeing my trunk with an alarming calm and dethatched tone. She’d stood and held me by the shoulders, looking at me rather like she’d never seen me before, and then hugged me lightly. “Have a nice year, dear.”

“Do you have everything?” My father asked, as we rode into London. Merlin was howling in his cage, hissing and batting at the edges with a clawed paw. “Books? Wand?”

“Oh, I forgot my wand,” I said sarcastically, unable to stop myself. He didn’t feed into it, but fell quiet, his hands uselessly on the wheel as the car drove itself.

“Do you have money, for the trolley?” He asked, as we pulled up to the station.

“No.”

He dug around in his pocket, pulling out a handful of mixed sickles and galleons, counting them out into my hand. Carefully, I tipped them into my pocket, and they clattered against the Prefect’s badge. He rapped his knuckles against the steering wheel, expectantly.

“I’ll just, pull up then?” He asked. “And you can go in?”

“Right,” I said, already undoing my seatbelt and reaching for Merlin’s cage, wincing as a clawed paw shot through the bars and swiped open my skin. “That’s fine.”

“Well,” he said stiffly, watching as I opened my door, and then popped open the boot for my trunk. He looked at me the way my mother had. Like he didn’t know me. But whereas my mother looked through me, it was as if my father was seeing me for the first time. I realized, belatedly, that he saw some of Cedric; our shared hair color, the same chin. But if he wanted to say something, he didn’t, and we lapsed into silence for a moment. “Make sure to write your mother.”

“I will.” I paused with my hand on the car door. Somewhere behind me, an owl hooted, and I checked my watch. Ten minutes to board. “I’ll see you, then.”

“Good bye, Logan.”

I shut the car door, and didn’t look back. I stacked my trunk and Merlin’s cage onto a trolley and aimed it into King’s Cross, pushing it through crowds of muggles and a few familiar faces here and there. I ran through the familiar wall, onto the platform, with just moments to board. I handed off my things to one of the attendants and climbed onto the train, immediately ducking as a mini Whiz-Bang flew over my head and exploded. I saw a group of grinning third year Gryffindors lining up to fire off the next one, but they scattered as I casually drew the Prefect’s badge from my pocket, pinning it to my blouse.

“Where’d you get that?” I asked the tallest of them, who immediately stuffed the bag of them into his pocket.

“The compartment on the next train. Weasleys are selling them.”

“Are they?”

I trekked the length of the car. I wished, suddenly, that I could vanish myself on the spot. Compartment doors slid open as I walked by. Students openly watched me go with pained eyes and sympathetic whispers.

_That’s her, Cedric Diggory’s sister._

_Who?_

_The boy who was murdered last year!_

_No, I didn’t know he had a sister._

The next car, mercifully, seemed far too chaotic for anyone to notice as I got onboard. A first year was chasing a toad down the aisle and I softened a bit, thinking of my own first ride and Neville’s lost toad. A few doors down, I heard two identical voices, speaking over one another.

“No, we agreed the Fever Fudge was Three Galleons and Seven Sickles.”

“And a knut!”

“You’re both wrong,” an exasperated female voice interjected. “It was Three Galleons, Nine Sickles, and One Knut.”

“Right you are, Hermione. Good to see you in the enterprising spirit.”

On my left, a compartment door had been left open. I could see chaos nearly pouring out into the air; Hermione’s bushy hair was visible as she stood with her hands on her hips, Fred and George’s arms full of prank boxes, and Ron, grinning happily from where he sat. I stopped at the door and peered in, saw Harry on the bench opposite. The laughter on his face froze when he saw me, and he stood quickly, a prank box sliding from his lap and falling to the floor. Hermione whipped around, and Fred and George stopped speaking.

“Hi,” I greeted them. My voice sounded deeper, raspier from disuse. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Logan, of course not.” Hermione, who I’d hardly exchanged a word with over the years, suddenly hugged me. I swayed on the spot, my arms at my side, as she did so, wholly taken aback. Fred and George sunk down next to Ron, going quiet. Hermione pulled back and took notice of the pin on my shirt. “You made Prefect too, then?”

“Yes, I assumed you would. And—” I looked to Harry, and saw that he wore no pin. He shook his head, just slightly, and nodded to Ron. Ron waved a hand, looking a bit miffed. “Congratulations to you too, Ron.”

“Oi, Diggory,” one of the twins said, though I couldn’t be sure which. “You going to make sure our brother doesn’t turn into a prefect prat? Not sure we can trust Hermione here, she’s going to start patrolling the hallways at any moment.”

“We’re supposed to go to the Prefect’s carriage.” Hermione said aloud. “Do you know where it is, Logan?”

“Cedric said it was at the front of the train.”

At the mention of his name, everyone fell very quiet, and I only heard the train whistle. Harry, who still hadn’t sat, moved past Hermione.

“Come on,” he said to me. “I’ll walk you to the front. Ron and Hermione will catch up.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, rather faint, and collapsed where Harry had been sitting before. She shrieked, immediately, and I saw she’d sat down right on an electric shock shake, leaving Fred and George in fits of laughter as Harry slid the door shut.

“You doing alright?” He asked, hands in pockets.

“No,” I replied, simply. “I’d forgotten we were to come back, really. Snuck up on me.”

“You didn’t say you’d made prefect in your letters.”

“I didn’t tell anyone.” As we walked down the aisle of the carriage, our arms brushed. Harry had grown taller over the summer, his hair longer. And he seemed to have aged, looked more tired. But I supposed that I rather looked the same.

“Didn’t want the attention of it?”

“Something like that. And you? I thought you’d get it.”

He shook his head. “Ah, no. I…truthfully, I thought I might too. But it’s good that Ron did. He’ll be good at it.”

“You’re bothered, aren’t you?” He was flattening his hair as he spoke, gazing off past all the compartments. He started as I asked, but merely tilted his head back and forth, as if weighing it.

“No. Well. I just maybe…I assumed I’d get it. Not sure why. But turns out that my dad never made Prefect. Felt a bit better about that.”

“Huh. I never asked my dad.”

“You should,” Harry said with a small shrug. But what he didn’t say was even louder. _While you still can._ He held the door for me as we enter the next corridor, but I froze.

He was standing at the other end of the carriage. Draco, taller than I remembered, hair whiter than I remembered. He wasn’t alone; Pansy stood on her tip-toes, her arms wrapped around her neck. His hands were on her waist, the rings on his fingers glittering teasingly in the sunlight that flooded through the windows. As I watched, she pressed her lips to his, just for a moment, before pulling back. I felt the floor drop out from under me, heard the whirring of the train in my ears that drowned out Harry as he continued to speak, and Draco looked up. His eyes met mine.

“Logan?” Harry shook my shoulder gently, and I snapped to, turning to look at him. “You alright?”

“Yes,” I responded, blinking rapidly. As if I could erase what I just saw from my eyes. “Yes, I am. You haven’t really told me about the end of your summer. Your letters sort of fell off.”

“Oh. Erm…change in address, you might say.”

“You moved out?”

“Manner of speaking. I’ll—”

“Potter!” Malfoy’s pernicious bark travelled down the hallway. I watched a wicked smile creep over Pansy’s face as she shuffled behind him. Draco strolled forward, looking smugly comfortable and then I realized; he wore the same badge I did, pinned to his shirt.

“What?” Harry said, aggressively, before Draco could continue.

“Careful Potter, I’ll give you detention.” Pansy snickered. “You see, I, unlike you, have been made a prefect. Which means that I, unlike you, can hand out punishments.”

“Shove off,” I input, and Draco blinked. I could tell he hadn’t expected me to interject. “He hasn’t done anything.”

“You should know better, Diggory. Since you’re a prefect. No one should be standing in the aisles rather than safely sitting in a compartment.”

“You’re standing in the hallway,” I pointed out.

“I, like you, am a prefect and am afforded free range.”

“Well, your _girlfriend_ isn’t. And she’s standing in the hallway, too. You try to give him detention and I’ll give her one.”

Behind Draco, I saw Pansy’s mouth fall open. As if I’d betrayed her. As if I owed her allegiance in the first place. But Draco stuck out a hand, pointing towards an open compartment. Pansy, fuming, slapped his hand away as she went inside and shut the door behind her.

“Get going, Potter,” Draco said, ignoring me. “But watch yourself. I’ll be _dogging_ your footsteps in case you step out of line.”

Harry opened his mouth, angrily, and I saw a nerve twitch in his brow. But I touched his arm, and he turned to me instead, his green eyes blazing.

“We’ll talk at school, won’t we?” I asked. Draco’s lip curled. “Just…find a compartment and I’ll see you.”

“Right,” Harry affirmed, sounding rather bitter. “Yeah. I’ll see you, Logan.”

And as Draco and I watched, he slid back into the other carriage. I crossed my arms, and silence fell between us. Draco stared, unabashed at me.

“You’ll see him at school then,” he said, a mocking tone in his voice. “You’ll see Saint Potter at school?”

“Yes.” The tightness in my voice forced it into a hiss. “Not that it’s any of your concern at all.”

He pointed to my prefect’s badge.

“It is, actually. Since we’re partners.”

“A grave error on Dumbledore’s part, making you a prefect.” I pushed past him, walking towards the last carriage, the Prefect’s carriage, and he followed, his long legs nearly overtaking my stride.

“Could say the same for you.”

“Is that right?”

“You have a habit of making wild accusations and threats against other students.”

In a flash, I had my wand in my hand. I saw Draco’s wand sliding from his sleeve, sleekly settling into his hand.

“I told you to stay away from me,” I said, my voice shaking. I closed my eyes, saw Cedric’s body. Heard the soul-shattering screams in the night.

“Well, I just don’t think that’s possible now, is it?”

_*_

There were nights during the summer where I hadn’t slept at all, hadn’t dreamt at all. On those nights, sticky summer air clouding the house, I’d slip outside. I took refuge sitting by the flutterby bush where the faeries played. I brought an inkwell, a quill, and parchment with me. And on those nights that punctuated my summer, I wrote to one person.

_Dear Draco—you’re selfish and cruel, and you’re blind if you think your alliances will serve you well._

_Dear Draco—you’re a coward of the highest degree._

_Dear Draco—I wish I’d never spoken to you at all._

But they started like that, all of them, and ended very differently.

_How is it that you could make me feel like I’m my own in a way no one else has? Why do I feel like you’re the only person who fights to see me in a room full of people, and actually sees me? How is it possible that you can look at me with fire in your eyes, but I know you’d keep me safe? I’m broken now, like I haven’t been before. Put me back together, please. I only trust you to do it._

And then, when I’d finished writing (writing, crying, cursing as the ink smeared and dried on my hands), I’d let pin the letter under a rock and waited for the ink to dry. When the sun began to rise, beams gliding across the rolling hills and lighting the long grasses, I’d get up, and take the letter inside with me. Every time, I’d fold the letter into three parts and tucked it into an envelope. On the front, I’d just write his name. _Draco._ I left them unsent. Stacking them into a hefty pile, tying it with string, and then tossing it into the depths of my trunk, where I’d never dig them out.

*

“Well?” Draco asked, his wand at my ribs. “I just don’t think it’s possible, unless you have another solution. Prefects are—”

“Don’t lecture me. It’s patronizing.” I lowered my wand. “What we’re going to do here is the absolute minimum. Minimum civility. We’re going to go into that carriage and hear out the Head Boy and Girl. And after that, it doesn’t matter. We won’t have to speak to each other, as far as I know.”

“And that’s what you want?” 

“I’ve said it before, haven’t I?”

I could tell he was holding back. I could see his jaw moving, like he was rolling the words around his mouth. _Say it._

“Besides,” I continued. I looked down at his hands. He’d lowered his wand too. He wore a new ring this year—heavy silver, with a family crest etched upon the surface. “Your girlfriend probably wouldn’t like us spending much time together, would she?”

“Pansy’s not—”

“Then what is she?” I asked. I had a very strong urge to seize him by the front of his robes, shake him until his head rolled back and hit the wall. “Hmm? Someone you pass the time with? A plaything for when you’re bored? Someone just to give you the attention you want?”

He didn’t answer, but merely continued to stare at me. He’d grown taller over the summer, just as Harry had. And he’d swaggered out into the hall, with his prefect’s badge with a renewed air of casual cruelty. But I could see, in his eyes, the gold flecks that had surrounded his irises had dimmed. There was a missing lightness in him.

“That’s what I thought.” I nodded, and he stepped back, silently. Allowing me to pass into the Prefect’s carriage. I willed myself not to cry.

I’d not said it aloud, dared myself not to wish it. That some small part of me, knowing who he was, what he belonged to, might change. That he would have changed…for me. But he hadn’t. And so, I began my fifth year shrouded in the cloud of loss. _That’s the girl whose brother died,_ people would whisper. But that was all they saw. They didn’t see that I’d lost two people that year, not just the one.


	13. The Faces of Denial

I was not used to the attention. From the moment I left the Prefect’s carriage, past the carriage ride to the castle, even as I took my seat at the Slytherin table for the sorting, I could feel everyone’s eyes upon me. It was a foreign, uncomfortable feeling that made me want to hide. Attention that I’d craved for so long now seemed intrusive, even annoying. Though—I supposed this was never the attention I’d sought. Once Dumbledore began to speak, I was rather grateful, as everyone’s eyes turned towards him and off me.

“I would like to welcome you all back for another year at Hogwarts, now that we are all digesting another magnificent feast. I would like to make a few housekeeping announcements.”

At my side, Daphne was writing a note to Blaise, dotting her _I’s_ with flowery flourish. Blaise’s handwriting was rather haughty looking, tall and thin as he was, but I caught a glimpse of his nickname for her: _darling_ , and I rolled my eyes so far back I could see black.

“We have two staff changes this year. First, Professor Grubby-Plank will be filling in for Professor Hagrid and taking over the duties of Professor for Care of Magical Creatures. And second, I would like to introduce Professor Umbridge as Defense Against the Dark Arts Teacher.” There was weak applause, and Daphne balled up the note and chucked it across the table, where it bounced off Blaise’s chest.

“You’ve heard of Umbridge, haven’t you?” She asked me, with a knowing smirk. “The Ministry Woman?”

“No?”

“Worked with my mum for a while. Says she’s a particularly nasty breed of woman. Passive aggressive, all of it. But there were rumors. That she confounded others, stole their work. Mum said never to be alone with her. Doesn’t trust her. Even as Slytherins.”

“Really?” I arched a brow as she got to her feet, as if she intended to speak. She was a small woman, with horribly budging eyes and a wide mouth. “So, they replaced a Death Eater with a different form of terrible? Brilliant.”

“Didn’t you see the papers this summer?”

“No.” I’d stopped reading the papers. After Cedric’s death, The Prophet seemed to have turned on Harry. They printed horribly degrading headlines, disparaging his story, accusing him of falsity. Fudge himself was giving interviews with the Prophet, denying the events Harry had set forth. My father had flown into an expletive-laced rage the first time he’d seen the story calling Harry a liar.

_We can’t trust them,_ my father had said, snatching the paper from my mother’s hand, and set it aflame in the sink. _It’s an insult to our boy._

“She’s Fudge’s pal. Part of his whole…movement.”

“Huh,” I said with a tick of my tongue, studying her as she spoke. She cleared her throat with a feeble, small _hem hem_ and began to speak. I tuned out for most of it, hardly caring to hear her speak. She stood at the front of the school where, a year ago, I’d watched my brother’s name be plucked from the Goblet of Fire. She spoke of ‘pruning’ policy and ‘progress being halted for progress’ sake.’ But what she said, and what her presence signaled was more than that; Cedric’s death wasn’t just his death, anymore. It wasn’t my loss, or my family’s. It was an excuse, now, to seize control in the chaos. I watched as the woman who would deny my brother’s murder smiled at all of us as we sat in the hall, and I thought of all the summer nights I’d spent in his room, learning from his books and what he’d left behind.

I’d never missed Cedric more.

*

“How was everyone’s summer?”

The question was posed as I stacked my books on top of my trunk, aligning the corners so they lined up just right. Daphne was laying on my bed, post-feast belly-up, staring at the ceiling. Her younger sister had brought a cat to school this year, and Merlin had brought it into our room, tussling playfully near my feet. Milicent was unpacking her things, slowly, and now, Pansy posed the question as she stood near the fireplace.

“What?” Daphne repeated, propping onto her elbows so she could look at Pansy, who’d crossed her arms tightly across her chest.

“Oh, Daphne. Is it really so improbable I’d ask you how your summer was?” Pansy used a falsely-high-pitched voice that didn’t suit her. I could feel her eyes burning into my back. “I would hope you would ask me about mine.”

“Keep building that hope, it’s a good thing to have,” Daphne said, collapsing onto her back again, and I had to smother my urge to laugh.

“My summer was fine,” Milicent said slowly, and Pansy rolled her eyes. “My father got me a spot at Quidditch camp. What did you do, Pansy?”

“Thank you, Millie,” Pansy trilled. “Thank god someone in this dormitory still tries to preserve kinship. Well, my parents took me to the South of France. Gorgeous stuff, absolutely posh. But wouldn’t you know it, I ran into Draco when I came back! Just out and about in London. We got to talking, and he told me he missed me. I know, it doesn’t even sound like him.”

I opened my trunk and began furiously sorting my jumpers, folding them with tight corners. Daphne was staring at me with some trace of curiosity in her eyes, but I didn’t dare look up. I could still feel Pansy’s eyes drilling into the back of my head.

“But we began writing each other. Weekly, you know. I’d have written more but he was just so busy.”

“With _what_?” I demanded, unable to keep from saying it. Snark dripped from my tone like honey.

“Oh, Logan.” Pansy widened her eyes in mock shock as I turned around. “I didn’t think you wanted to participate in the conversation. You’ve been so quiet.”

“Well, you’ve just made it so interesting.” I threw my clothes onto my bed, giving Daphne a start. Pansy gave me a simpering smile, but fire and brimstone burned behind her eyes.

“Well, it’s not my place to tell you what he was up to all summer. That’s private, between us. But I will say that we really connected, you know? It’s supposed to be quite rare, meeting someone who sees you for who you are the way I see him. So strong and brilliant.”

“He’s built like a string bean,” Daphne pointed out, but was ignored.

“Anyway, he asked me to be his girlfriend. Just the other week, before the year began. Wanted to make it official before we came back and saw everyone, I suppose.” Pansy’s dark eyes bored into me, and I reached for one of my sets of robes, folding it with hardline creases. “And Logan? How was your summer? It must have been so hard after…”

“Don’t.” I jumped to my feet, dropping the robes and my pretenses. Pansy drew up, like a rattled snake, fighting a small smile. “Don’t talk about him.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” she said. “I just meant…well, you look awful. Pale. Dark circles. Thin, though, I suppose losing some weight couldn’t have been too harmful.”

“Shut up, Pansy,” Daphne chimed in, standing now. Millicent watched, open mouthed.

“I didn’t mean any offense, truly. I just…I wish everyone could find the happiness I’ve found.” She cocked her head. “With Draco. I mean, you saw earlier, didn’t you Logan? On the train? I know it just must feel impossible for you, right now. I don’t blame you for lashing out. But that’s why I asked about your…summer. So we can work on this, together.”

“What are you talking about?” Daphne asked, and Pansy raised her brows. “Logan, what is she talking about?”

“You didn’t tell her?” Pansy queried. I took a deep breath. Heard Cedric in my head. _No one hates you, Logan._ Told myself to count backwards. _Ten, nine, eight._ “Logan saw Draco and I on the train earlier today. We were…well, I shouldn’t engage in public displays of affection like that, but I couldn’t help myself.”

_Seven, six, five._

“It probably was dangerous to be in the aisle like that, and I know you must be so put out recently, but my god, threatening me with detention for public displays of attention?”

_Four, three, two._

“How jealous do you have to be?”

_One._ I took a deep breath. Daphne eyed me with uncertainty.

“I’m the furthest thing from jealous of you, Pansy.” My voice came out remarkably calm, but I found that my hand was shaking as I reached for a tie. I looped it around my neck, folding it under my starched collar. “I didn’t threaten you with detention, either. I was pointing out a fallacy in Malfoy’s logic and used you as an example. Like someone might be used as an object.”

I saw a flash in her eyes, and her legs twitched, as if she wanted to rush me, but she stood her ground.

“Now.” I raised my voice. “That wasn’t a threat, but this is. If anyone in this dormitory says a word about my brother, it’s ten points deducted. Fifty if it’s twice. And a week’s worth of detention for a third strike. I’ll leave you all to it, I’ll have to patrol the halls tonight. Prefect’s duty.”

I yanked open the door and watched as Merlin and Astoria’s cat scampered away, running after each other down the staircase to the common room.

“Bastards,” I heard someone exclaim.

Draco was standing on the staircase, holding onto the bannister as if he’d lost his balance. He wore his badge affixed to a crisp, white shirt, and his green and silver tie was cinched tightly around his neck.

“What are you doing up?” He asked me, seeing me come down the stairs.

“Patrolling. Like the Head Boy and Girl told us. And you?”

“The same.”

We stood in silence for a moment. And then he extended an arm, mockingly, inviting me out in front of him. I took the invite, biting my tongue, unable to hold his gaze any longer. He followed behind me, neither of us saying a word, until we passed through the entrance to the common room.

“I’ll take the east dungeons, you take the west?” I proposed, at the same time he said:

“Was there yelling coming from your room?”

I crossed my arms.

“Yelling is an incorrect term. I’d say…there was a discussion.”

“I thought I heard P—”

“You did. I’m sure you can ask her about it. Write her a letter, maybe. Since you wrote her _weekly._ ” My tone was hateful, and I hated myself for it. For sinking into the depths of my anger, but angrier at the fact it showed.

“What?” Draco asked, sputtering a bit. “I did not.”

“She assured us you did. In fact, she took care to tell us all about your courtship. You really reconnected this summer, didn’t you? I’m glad you had someone. So glad.”

“What’s your problem?”

“My problem?” My voice was climbing in angry hysteria, and I couldn’t control it. “No problem here, none.”

“You say you want me to stay away, tell me you don’t want me near you, threaten me.”

“And? Is that confusing?”

“It shouldn’t be. I’d be glad to do that, but now you’re…”

“I’m what?” I demanded, and Draco sputtered again, looking uncharacteristically confused.

“You said once that I gave you whiplash. Because you never knew what I was thinking of you or how I felt about you. What do you think you’re doing now? Do you think I’m stupid? That I can’t tell—”

“I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you know exactly what you’re doing.” I pointed towards the dark hallway that lead towards Snape’s office, and he didn’t follow my glance, didn’t even blink. “If you think that I’m going to sit here and tell you that _god_ , _I wish it were me_ , you’re wrong. Now, do you want that hallway, or the other one?”

“Don’t deny—”

“That hallway, or the other one?”

When he didn’t answer right away, I began to stride the opposite direction on my own. I didn’t look back, not even as I heard him mutter under his breath. I climbed out of the dungeons, reveling in the darkness of the castle. The torches had dimmed, and it was eerily quiet. I passed Padma Patil doing her rounds as well, merely nodding in recognition, before I entered the library. I walked down the lengths of the shelves, cast in darkness, until I came across my usual desk. Where Cedric had come to find me so many times in the years before, sometimes bringing me tea or coffee and asking me how my homework was going, taking my quill from my hand and joking around.

It was only then that I noticed that someone had carved something into the clean, smooth surface of the wood. I lit my wand and held it over the desk, the light travelling over the grains of the wood until I could see it clearly. _LD._ Someone had carved my initials into the desk without my asking. I traced my fingers over the initials, my breath shallow. I wanted to cry, so desperately, but the tears wouldn’t come.

I wouldn’t shed tears when there were bigger things looming over my head.

*

Our first class of the year was Defense Against the Dark Arts with Umbridge. We filed in with the Gryffindors, Daphne taking the desk just next to mine. I pushed my textbook to the corner of my desk and waited for Professor Umbridge to speak, or to catch a fly on her toad-like tongue. Harry took a seat a few ahead of mine and turned around to nod at me. I nodded back, but not before I felt someone sink into the desk just behind mine. I gripped the edges of my seat, knowing now how it felt to have Draco linger like my own shadow.

“Good Morning, class,” Umbridge said, falsely bright. No one greeted her back. “Let’s try that again, shall we? Good Morning, class.”

“Good Morning, Professor,” I heard some echo. Daphne shrugged at me as she did so, but widened her eyes. I remembered her warning from the evening before.

“Wands away, please. As I understand, your teaching on this subject has been fragmented and disrupted quite a bit. We need to remedy that. Books open to page one, Basics for Beginners. Go ahead and read chapter one. There will be no need to talk.”

Before I could even open my book, I saw Hermione Granger’s hand fly into the air. Draco sighed and sniggered, and I heard Theodore Nott echo his lead before Crabbe and Goyle did so as well. Umbridge looked up at the noise.

“Did you have a question, dear?” Umbridge asked in a sickly simpering tone. I felt a knot form in my stomach.

“No.” Hermione said. “I have a query about the course aims on the board.”

“Your name?”

“Hermione Granger.” Hermione plowed on as if Umbridge hadn’t interjected. “There’s nothing on the board about _using_ defensive spells.”

She was right. The board showed three aims. _1\. Understand the principles of defensive magic. 2. Learn to recognize situations where defensive magic should be legally used. 3. Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use._

“Using defensive spells?” Umbridge cackled. “Do you expect to be attacked in my classroom, Miss Granger?”

“One can hope,” Draco muttered, earning more sniggers from Crabbe and Goyle.

“Surely the aim of the course is to practice defensive spells?” Hermione asked. More hands rose into the air, the Gryffindors nearly lifting from their seats in their haste to speak.

“Are you a Ministry expert, Miss Granger?”

“No, but--”

“We’re not going to use Magic?” Ron echoed loudly, shooting his hand higher into the air.

“I didn’t call on you, but no, I do not think we will have such a need…”

“But OWLS!” I heard someone cry, at the same time Harry spoke: 

“What use is that? If we’re going to be attacked.”

“Hand, Mr. Potter!” Umbridge sang. “As I’ve said before, do you expect to be attacked in my class, Mr. Potter? Besides, this class has had no emphasis on theory. If one practices theory enough, they should have an understanding of what will be on your exams.”

I felt like I was tipping forward. Like I was in the stands again, hearing the terrified roar of silence in my ears as I saw Cedric’s body, cold on the ground.

“And what about the real world?” I heard Harry call, his voice raising in volume. I called upon my mantra silently, repeating it to myself. _Ten, nine, eight. Confringo. Defodio. Colloshoo._

“This is a classroom, Mr. Potter, not the real world.”

“So how are we supposed to be prepared for what’s out there?”

_Seven, six, five. Stupefy. Legilimens. Periculum._

“And what, pray tell, do you think is out there, Mr. Potter? I can assure you, there isn’t anything that poses you harm.”

_Four, three, two. Bombarda. Redactum Skullus. Episkey._

“Hmm, I don’t know. What about Lord Voldemort?”

There was a gasp that flamed up through the classroom. I heard a sharp exhale behind me, and I raised my eyes to see Umbridge, eyes flicking quickly back and forth across the class. Examining how to take back control.

“Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter. Let me make things quite clear to you all. You have been told by this Administration and a classmate that a certain Dark Wizard is returned from the dead.” She leaned forward, splaying fat hands on the lectern. “This is a lie.”

_One._

 _“_ It’s not a lie,” Harry shouted, standing quickly. I raised my hands to my cheeks, feeling the heat in my skin rise. Daphne glanced at me and shook her head, quietly. “I saw him, I fought him.”

“Detention, Mr. Potter. Tomorrow evening, six o clock. I tell you again, this is a lie. Now, if you have concerns, you are welcome to come to me outside of the classroom, but the Ministry assures you there is no danger out there, certainly not against young wizards like yourself…”

“Bullshit!” I croaked, unable to contain it. The word slipped from my throat, and I saw a ripple of heads turn in my direction. I was glued to my seat, unable to move, even as Umbridge fixed her stare on me. “What do you think happened to my brother, then?”

“Miss Diggory, is it?” Umbridge gripped the lectern again, righting herself. “While we all sympathize with your loss, it is the Ministry’s official position that what happened to Cedric Diggory was a tragic accident.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Daphne shaking her head even more furiously. On my other side, Pansy was glancing at me with an open mouth, looking quite delighted with the way things were going. Behind me, I heard Draco’s breath pick up, hot on the back of my neck. 

“It was murder,” I spat.

“Voldemort killed him and you know it,” Harry added, his hands curled into fists.

“You two. Come to my desk please.”

I stood, pushing my chair in as I did so, hitting the back of the chair so hard against Draco’s desk that the wood splintered. Harry kicked his chair aside as the rest of the class sat in terrified silence. Umbridge dipped a stubby quill into ink and scribbled on a piece of parchment, rolled it up, and set it aside. She then did the same with another, sealed it, and handed one to Harry and the other to me.

“Take these to your respective heads of houses, please. I will not tolerate such behavior in my classrooms.” She eyed the badge on my robe. “Especially not from a prefect. Go on. Shoo.”

Harry, eyes positively blazing, turned and marched from the classroom, not pausing. I shouldered my bag and followed. I saw Crabbe and Goyle making faces as I passed, but Draco kept his head bowed down, his eyes sliding in my direction as I passed silently.

“Fucking garbage!” Harry exclaimed angrily, once the door had shut behind him. I glanced down at the scroll in my hand. I’d never been turned out of class before, never gotten in any conflict in a class at all. “Can you believe that?”

“Yes,” I said, breathing deeply, and Harry, in a rage, tossed a full well of ink down the hall, where it smashed to the floor. “She’s here to dispel what the Ministry thinks is any threat to their story. So yeah, I believe it. Are you alright?”

“No,” he said, panting slightly, and then putting his hands on his hips. “I’m sorry, Logan. It should be me asking you. Are you alright?”

“No,” I agreed. “I’m not. It hurts to think that people don’t…believe. Cedric...It’s insulting.”

“Not everyone thinks like she does,” Harry pointed out. “Believe me, there’s a group of us that know.”

“Good,” I muttered. “Don’t think it’s anyone from my house, but it’s nice to know you’re out there.”

“You know where to find us,” Harry said. Instinctively, I reached out and touched my hand to his. He grabbed on, his fingers light. Just like he had the day in the Hospital Wing after Cedric had gone. It was a comforting touch, but it didn’t calm the rage that bubbled in me now. I looked back towards the closed classroom door.

“I’ve got to learn to keep it in,” I said, closing my eyes. “I’ve been trying to calm myself down, count backwards and things like that.”

“Why?” Harry asked. “Why not just…let it out? Fight?”

I smiled, sadly.

“The thing is, with people like Umbridge, you can’t fight if you’ve been disabled. Cut off from help. Like what happened to Ced. You can’t be too obvious, can you? You need to strike at an opportune time, or just defend yourself at a minimum.”

“But—”

“Harry. There won’t be a fight, if they can help it. Not out in the open. She was brought in to bury your story, so you can’t try to push it on her. It’s just a way for her to push back and plant doubt.”

I slipped my hand away and straightened my tie, then my prefect’s badge.

“You’re right,” Harry said, somewhat distantly. He looked back towards the door to the classroom, and shook his head. “We need to preserve the fight.”

*

Snape gave me a very fearsome talking to, his voice smooth and unyielding as he doled out punishment. Ten points from Slytherin for spreading propaganda. No detention, though. Snape took an extra five as I’d ‘ _brought shame on the Prefect’s badge_ ’ within the first week of classes. I was sent back to the Dormitory, and I collapsed onto one of the black leather sofas in the common room, unable to think or move.

Classmates trickled in after lunch, chatting about the schedule and homework and Quidditch tryouts. The younger kids seemed not to notice me, or feared that I’d dock them points if they bothered me, so I was left largely unnoticed. That is, until my year returned. Daphne, wide-eyed, left Blaise by the fireplace and sunk into the chair opposite mine, holding on to the arms quite firmly.

“So,” she began, delicately. “That was an exciting class.”

“Don’t,” I said, darkly, and raised a hand. “I know. I fucked up.”

“Well, yes.” She opened her mouth to explain further, but was interrupted. Pansy had taken it upon herself to approach us, smirking widely as she held her books against her chest.

“Logan,” she opened, looking down at me over her nose. “Still surprised to see you here after your outburst.”

“They don’t expel students for mouthing off,” I said dismissively.

“Oh, I meant in the Slytherin Common room. See, I thought you knew what this house stood for. No blood traitors, amongst all things. But a steadfast belief in what is right.”

“Are you that thick?” I asked, stretching my legs out before I stood. I bypassed her in height by nearly half a head. “Is my stating facts not correct enough for you?”

Draco had just entered the room as I spoke, laughing with Crabbe and polishing a green apple on the front of his robes. As he took in the room, saw Pansy and I standing toe-to-toe, he stopped in his tracks, the laughter dying on his face.

“You’re siding with that nutter, then?” She asked, narrowing her eyes. “Potter over us? You really think he’s back?”

“I never _sided_ with anyone. There can’t be sides when it’s an objective truth. But if you’d like to twist facts into something beyond, shape sides, then yes, sure. I take his _side._ And if you don’t, you’re a moron. He’s back, and he doesn’t give two shits about what you’re saying in this common room, Pansy. The day he decides he wants something from this school, or any of us in it, we’re all dead. _Sides_ won’t matter.”

“Is that so?” She asked, hackles rising. “If—”

“Pansy!” Draco interrupted quite suddenly, the smarm returning to his face. He crossed the room and slung an arm over her shoulders before looking me up and down. “Don’t you have some of my notes? I’ll need to study.”

“Fine,” she said, rather sullenly, and turned from me. “I’ll get my books.”

I watched her trot up the stairs obediently.

“Do you have something to say, too?” I asked him, glowering as he stood by. “You want to deny my brother’s murder?”

He looked at me, blithely, before saying in a low, steady voice:

“No.”

“Good. Now go away, please.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, as if he had something else to add, but he bit his tongue and swaggered up the stairs towards the Dormitories.

“Alright,” Daphne said, leaning forward in her chair. “What the fuck is going on with that?”

“With what?”

“You and Draco.” She wrinkled her nose. “He’s always…hovering. Like he’s just waiting to say something when you’re around. I never know if he’s about to strike.”

“He’s made it his life’s mission to make my life miserable, I suppose.”

“Bullshit. He’s not doing it to be mean to you. It’s like he’s always looking for your acknowledgement. Approval, maybe?”

“I don’t know,” I replied, shaking my head. I’d never told her, never told anyone, about what had happened the year before. Could hardly bear to know it myself. Daphne leaned over further still, her chest nearly touching the tops of her knees.

“What happened between you guys?” She repeated.

I sighed and yanked my schoolbag up off the floor. 

“Nothing happened, okay? Nothing will ever happen. He’s just a spoiled brat who isn’t used to having other people stick up for themselves, that’s it.”

“Well.” She stood too, looking slightly wounded. “Maybe that’s true. But he doesn’t look at other people the way he looks at you. Even just now. The way he looks at you…”

“What? He looks at me how?”

“I don’t know.” Daphne shrugged, trying to find the words. She turned her gaze up towards the windows of the common room, watching the greenish water churn against the glass. “Like he’s trying to keep you afloat, I guess.”


	14. Oh, She Bites Back

It seemed silly, in spite of everything that had happened, to want to try out for Quidditch. But as fall settled over Hogwarts, sun-dappled and breezy, I couldn’t help but find myself drawn to the pitch. For years, I’d watched Cedric play, leading Hufflepuff to a few fought-hard wins. As kids, he’d taught me how to ride a broom when my father lost patience, taking extra care to hurl makeshift bludgers at me as only a brother is allowed to do. But despite my darkened milieu, I found that I craved something lighter to make up for it. And so, on early mornings, I’d take Cedric’s old broom out to the Pitch, kicking off my shoes and skimming my toes along the dewy grass as I rode.

This year, Graham Montague had been made captain. This didn’t do any particular favors for me—I’d had no interaction with him yet, though he seemed fair. He held tryouts one Saturday morning, lining us all up to examine us from head to toe as he instructed us on the drills and scrimmage. There were a few spots open—the two beaters and a chaser spot. I watched Crabbe and Goyle pick up beaters bats and immediately, playfully begin to swing at each other, and I crossed my fingers in my robe pocket, hoping they’d knock each other out. I was going after the chaser position.

“Diggory,” Flint said, stopping in front of me before drills. “You’re going out for chaser?”

Behind him, Draco balanced on his broom with ease. He was playing with a snitch, letting it tumble through his fingers like a loose coin before closing his fingers over it. If he was listening to Flint, he was doing a bang-up job of pretending not to. He hadn’t looked at me yet, but had given some second-years a stink-eye strong enough to send them packing before they’d even gotten on their brooms.

“Yes,” I maintained, mounting my broom.

“Fine. You’re small, though. Could be seeker.”

“We have a seeker,” Draco boomed, cutting in, and Flint smiled, revealing overlapping front teeth.

“Relax, Malfoy. Her brother was a decent seeker. Wondered if she had the same talent.”

Draco’s eyes flickered over me, still weaving the snitch through his fingers. I felt a shiver in my bones, and I gripped the broom a bit more tightly; his eyes were not appraising in the same business-like manner as Flint.

“Alright, Diggory. Let’s put you up against Harper as keeper.”

He was a decent keeper, Harper. But not as fast, nor as motivating, as Cedric had been. As a kid, I’d longed for nothing more to score on Cedric, flattening myself down on my broom to shoot forward quicker, throw harder and faster. He’d been decently good at batting away the beat-up old Quaffle we had, but I’d learned to feint and aim beyond what he could block. Cedric had always tried to keep me going, shouting at me to keep it up, and while his kindness had never gone unnoted—the small fire of competition in me had really sealed the deal; I wanted to prove myself against him. Harper wouldn’t even stand a chance against that flame, that had burned much brighter against Ced.

All in all, I scored 9/10.

*

“Where’d you learn to play like that?” Malfoy sneered, as the tryouts came to a close. He pulled up next to me on his firebolt, sleek and new, the bristles freshly trimmed. “Spend a lot of time alone, just working on your strokes?”

“Isn’t that what you and your right hand were doing all summer?” I responded, touching down to the ground. Malfoy turned pink, but let out a guffaw, trying to regain his footing.

“My spot isn’t up for grabs.”

“I didn’t want seeker anyway,” I noted.

“So you just decided to try out in your fifth year, for chaser? No motive?”

He followed me down towards the changing rooms, as we trailed the rest of the candidates and players. Crabbe and Goyle were still swinging the beater’s bats at each other. One of them had knocked out a third year during the scrimmage match.

“Motive? You mean, besides playing Quidditch?”

“I just think it’s interesting how you tell me to stay away, all the time, but you—”

“Oh,” I exclaimed, suddenly, as I began to round on him. I’d been ready to tell him off when I noticed that his nose was bleeding. A thin rope of crimson liquid spilled from his nostril, staining his skin and his upper lip. The panic in my voice stopped him on the spot, and he immediately raised a hand to his face, wiping the blood with the back of his hand and smearing it across his cupid’s bow. “You’re bleeding.”

“No shit,” he snarled, tipping his head back to stop it.

“Here.” I reached into my pocket, pulled out a packet of tissues. He watched carefully as I removed a few and held them to his nose. He dropped his hands and let me dab away the blood in thankful silence, looking sullen nonetheless.

“You just have those on hand?”

“I heard Crabbe and Goyle saying they were going out for beaters. Planned ahead, thought I’d get clobbered with the bat.”

He coughed, but I knew he was trying to disguise a chuckle. I moved the tissue across his lip, cleaning up the blood the best I could.

“I didn’t see you get hit,” I said.

“I didn’t. Sometimes I just get bloody noses.”

I lowered my hand, and he pinched his nose with two fingers. The bleeding had stopped, but he wriggled his nose like a rabbit might, as if to test it out.

“Thanks,” he grumbled, sounding as if he didn’t want to say it at all.

“I didn’t want you to bleed on me,” I said, unable to keep from joking about it. I feared this moment, somehow tender despite the hard edge that had driven between us in the past few months. I feared that, when I looked at him, I felt my anger and rage subsiding like an ocean wave slipping back out to sea. I feared my desire to walk up and lay my head on his chest and have him put his arms around me so I could breathe in the scent of him. I feared how much I cared—even though I didn’t want to care at all.

“Here.” Carefully, he removed the tissue from my fingers, wrinkling his nose. He cast it aside, before pulling out his wand and setting it aflame. It burned up, the blood spots disappearing into a tiny pile of ash. We stared at it in silence for a moment before I said:

“I didn’t try out because you were on the team. I tried out because Cedric taught me to play.”

“Okay.”

“I didn’t try out to antagonize you or to poach your spot.”

“Fine.”

“And I…”

There was a lot more I wanted to say. _I’m sorry? How are you? I miss you? Is it too late?_

“What?”

“Sorry about your nose,” I faltered, uselessly, and took a step back from him. He didn’t object, and so I began to head towards the changing rooms on my own, but I got about five steps before he called:

“Hey, Logan.” My heart twanged when he said my first name like that; like he wasn’t done with me yet. He remained where he stood, but nodded towards me. “You weren’t the worst out there. You’ll get it.”

And then, without another word, he turned and left me standing there, alone in the hallway, wishing my victory tasted just a bit sweeter.

*

Draco turned out to be right.

I made the team.

*

Umbridge was named High Inquisitor, a fanciful name for someone with the disposition of pond scum. She had taken to showing up in classes, unannounced, and making little _hem hem_ noises when a Professor was speaking. Taking notes and butting in to ask questions. It became quite clear she was doing so not just to get a rise out of them, but would be trimming the fat. I’d had her sit in on Runes and Arithmacy when she showed up in Transfiguration after lunch one day. I sank into my seat near the window, trying my best to conceal a smirk as I knew that this would, likely, go quite poorly for Umbridge.

“Alright, class,” McGonagall said, strolling into the classroom and ignoring Umbridge entirely. “Today we shall be working further on Vanishing Spells. Come here, Miss Brown, take this box of mice and hand them out.”

“Hem Hem.”

“Now,” McGonagall plowed on, as if she hadn’t heard. Daphne’s face was a mask of glee already. “Most of you have managed to vanish most, if not all, of a snail, but—”

“Hem Hem.”

“ _Yes_?” McGonagall’s tone dripped with acid, and her mouth formed a straight line.

“I wondered if you had received my note telling you the date and time of your inspection?”

“Obviously, or I would have asked what you were doing in my classroom. Now, as I was saying, the vanishing of mice is all together a more difficult task, and—”

“Hem Hem.”

“I wonder, Dolores, how you expect to gain any idea of my usual teaching methods if you continue to interrupt me? I do not only permit students to talk when I do, that rule applies to everyone in my classroom.” Unless it was my imagination, Umbridge’s quill squeaked as it scraped against the parchment, as if she was pressing too hard.

“That was brilliant,” Daphne snickered as we left the class, looking wicked in her enjoyment. “McGonagall is so cold when she needs to be, the look on Umbridge’s face was just…”

“She’s so angry,” I giggled, too excited to fear how she might take this out on us next. We were about to head down to Care of Magical Creatures when I heard someone say my name. Behind us was Hermione Granger, looking tentative and curious, holding her books to her chest. 

“Can I talk to you for a moment, please?” She asked, and then eyed Daphne. “Alone?”

“What?” Daphne murmured in laughable confusion. 

“Just…go ahead?” I suggested to her. “I’ll meet you down there.”

I followed Hermione around the corner and halfway up the staircase towards the Astronomy tower. Furtively, she raised her wand and pointed it towards the crowded hallway.

“Muffliato,” she murmured. It was like we were in a bubble—the sounds of students talking, walking became glossed over. “Sorry for the secretiveness, but I wanted to catch you for a moment.”

“Sure,” I said, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I was quite aware that I’d never spoken to her outside of the boat ride to the Castle, or when she’d been with Harry and Ron. “What’s up?”

“Harry told me something you said to him after that first Defense Against the Dark Arts class this year. That there wouldn’t be a fight out in the open against Umbridge or the Ministry, if she could help it.”

“Yeah I…I don’t want to get into trouble with her.”

“Yes, I agree. That’s wise. We know who she’s reporting to, and how difficult she could make things here.”

“So…?”

“I was thinking. We’d have to get him on board, but what if we had a different Dark Arts Teacher?”

I sputtered.

“What, oust her? Doesn’t that seem counter intuitive?”

“No,” Hermione reassured me. “Think. In her eyes, we take the class, we absorb her nonsense. But we learn the class ourselves. And have Harry guide us. It’s not just about O.W.L.s, it’s about—”

“Everything else,” I finished. My heart was racing. “How? How could this work?”

“I’m working on details. Harry will agree, I know he will, even if it takes him a moment to come around. But I’m thinking we just…test the waters. Next Saturday, the Hog’s Head, after eleven. Don’t tell anyone, just come alone, be subtle.”

“Right.” I swallowed, hard. Thought of Umbridge’s smug little smile as she faced the class. _That is a lie,_ she’d said. “And if we get found out?”

Hermione paused, chewing the inside of her cheek for a moment. “We won’t. I’ll make sure of it. Besides, there’s no rule that says friends can’t meet at a pub.”

“Okay. Next Saturday. After eleven.”

Hermione lifted the charm she’d cast and trotted down the stairs, rounding the corner, her bushy hair the last to go. I slumped against the wall, feeling my heart hammering reassuringly in my chest. All those nights I’d not slept, this summer, manically preparing, were about to be put to the test.

*

As Hermione instructed, I’d headed into Hogsmeade alone. It was easy enough to shake off questions from Daphne; I’d told her I’d only be going in to town to buy a new Quill but that I had too much work to catch up on to stay any later. She’d been more than ready to resign herself to an afternoon alone with Blaise. I was trekking the long path from the Castle to the Village when I heard the buzz of voices behind me. Furtively, I peered over my shoulder and saw Crabbe and Goyle shuffling along, Malfoy leading them both in long stride. Crabbe and Goyle were squabbling over some sweets, and Malfoy looked thoroughly annoyed with them both.

“What are you looking at, Diggory?” He called.

Silently, I faced back forward, putting my head down and pushing ahead. I heard footsteps trotting up behind me, and then Draco was walking alongside me, dressed all in black; black turtleneck sweater, slim black pants, shiny black shoes.

“No one to keep you company today?” He queried, plainly rude.

“Not all of us are as lucky to entertain the attention of Crabbe and Goyle.”

He sniggered at that.

“All alone, then?”

“Clearly.”

“Hoping to meet up with Potter? Snog in Madame Puddifoot’s?”

“What? No.” I sputtered. “Is that where you’re headed with Pansy?”

“She’s sick,” he said defensively, going rather red.

“Shame for you.” I fixed my eyes on the growing horizon of the Village. The wind whipped my hair around and tossed leaves through the air.

“Is it?” He smirked. “I’m not alone though.”

“I’d rather be alone than spend one more second with you.”

“Oh, she bites back.”

“Head on back to the circle jerk, Malfoy. I’m busy.”

“What are you even doing that could make you so busy?”

“Believe it or not, it’s really none of your business.”

“You don’t want to share?”

“Not particularly.”

“Made some new friends?” He narrowed his eyes, suddenly, and I felt ice in my stomach. There’s no way he could have known…no one would have told him. But the implication was heavy nonetheless.

“Why are you so interested? Pansy would love to share every single moment of her existence with you, I’m sure. Go back and ask her.”

I’d stung some part of him, I could see. His jaw jutted out, and he blinked, collecting himself, before rearranging his features back into a sneer.

“Maybe I will. Maybe I’ll walk into your dormitory, and get into her bed and I’ll…”

“Stop it.” A hard lump had formed in my throat at his words. I could still remember how his hands felt on my face, the peppermint on his tongue, the imprint of his lips on my neck. Involuntarily, I felt hot tears prickle the back of my eyes, and I pushed them away. “That’s disgusting.”

“Are you jealous?” He was teasing me now, his voice rising and falling, drawing out the words languidly as he watched my profile.

“Jealousy would imply that I care for you at all.”

“Don’t you?” He purred.

I didn’t get a chance to respond, because there was a loud shout from behind us. Crabbe had triumphantly snatched the sweets from Goyle and emptied them in his mouth. His head had begun to swell at an alarming rate, drooping like a spoiled pumpkin. Draco swore aloud and fell back, leaving me to continue on, haunted by the image of him crawling into Pansy’s bed.

I was so absorbed in where I was going that as I passed Zonko’s, I bumped into Hannah as she walked with Ernie, nearly knocking her forward.

“Logan!” She greeted me enthusiastically, seizing a lamppost so she didn’t fall.

“I am so sorry,” I apologized profusely. “I was distracted.”

“You looked quite focused,” she agreed. “Are you…here alone?”

“Well I’m…headed somewhere.”

Hannah and Ernie exchanged a look.

“We’re going to the Hogshead,” she posed, almost like a question.

“I am too,” I admitted, quickly, in a low voice. I glanced in back of me, to make sure Draco & co. hadn’t followed too closely. Thankfully, they were nowhere in sight. “Come on, let’s go.”

Hermione, Harry, and Ron were already there when we arrived. I could see them holding small court near a cluster of tables. Ginny Weasley sat near the three, and Neville Longbottom. I saw a few Ravenclaws, including Loony Lovegood and Anthony Goldstein, as well as both Patil twins around another table. Cho had just arrived too, and waved kindly at me as she sat down with Anthony.

“Come on.” Hannah lead us over to a table. Harry caught my eye and smiled, looking rather surprised. He raised a brow, as if to say: _you too?_ I nodded towards Hermione, who also smiled. Hannah lowered her voice.

“I’m a bit surprised you’d come, Logan.”

“Why?”

“Well just…You’re the only Slytherin here.”

“I’m probably the only one whose brother was murdered by The Dark Lord,” I noted, chewing down on my thumbnail thoughtfully. Hannah’s eyes widened, and Ernie hastily offered to get us a round of drinks. I’d just taken note of the others wandering in—the Weasley twins and their friend Lee, when I heard Hermione nervously clear her throat.

“Well, er, hi you lot. We know why you’re here. I mean, Harry had…no, I had the idea that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts, I mean, really study it, not that rubbish that Umbridge’s been pedaling—”

“Hear hear!” Anthony Goldstein said aloud, and Hermione softened.

“I thought it might, er, be good for us to take it into our own hands. And I want us to learn how to defense ourselves properly, by practice. Not just theory, but real spells because…” she took a deep breath. “Voldemort is back.”

Immediately, there was a spike in reaction. Hannah dribbled butterbeer down her front, Cho twitched, and Neville choked loudly. My eyes went to Harry, who looked peaceful, if not unbothered, by the mention of the name.

“Well, that’s the plan. To learn. If you want to join us, we’ll just need to decide how—”

“Where’s the proof he’s back?” A Hufflepuff with an upturned nose asked. I didn’t recognize him, but Hannah rolled her eyes and Ernie groaned under his breath. “Dumbledore believes _him_.” He nodded to Harry.

“Who are you?” Ron demanded, quite rudely.

“Zacharias Smith,” the boy replied firmly. “And I have the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who is back.”

“What makes me say he’s back?” Harry queried, almost mockingly. “I saw him. But if Dumbledore told the entire school what happened and you don’t believe him, you can leave. I’m not spending an afternoon trying to convince anyone.”

“All Dumbledore said was that Cedric Diggory was murdered by You-Know-Who and brought his body back.”

Hannah’s eyes flickered towards me, and I stared into the depths of my coffee mug. _Ten, nine, eight, seven, six._

“He didn’t give us details, and he didn’t say exactly how Diggory was murdered.” _Five, four, three, two._

“I think we’d all like to know how, exactly, that happened. The proof.” _One._

“Is Harry’s word not good enough?” I burst, rounding on him. I could hear my voice shaking. “Maybe mine is. Don’t think we’ve had the pleasure. I’m Logan Diggory, Cedric’s sister.” Zacharias Smith went quite white, paler than a sheet, in fact, but he didn’t say a word. “I believe Harry. I believe my brother was murdered by You-Know-Who.”

Hannah closed a kindly, supportive hand around my wrist. I fell silent, and looked back at my coffee. The black liquid was rippling like a lake.

“If you’ve come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone, I won’t tell you,” Harry said, following up. “And I don’t want to talk about Cedric, all right? If that’s what you’ve come to hear, I suggest you leave. Now.” I felt the eyes in the bar flicking back and forth from Harry, to me, and then back to Harry. But no one left, no one moved. Not even Zacharias Smith.

“Well, like I was saying.” Hermione drew a piece of parchment from her bag, and a quill. “I think we’d all like to learn, shouldn’t we? Perhaps once a week.” There was a murmur of agreement. “And from Harry, are we agreed?”

“Hear Hear,” Anthony Goldstein said again, and there was some light, polite giggling.

“I think we should all sign this parchment,” Hermione instructed us, handing it off to Fred. “As a showing of who was here, but also…this is an agreement. Not to tell Umbridge.” George leaned over Fred’s shoulder quite quickly to sign, adding a flourish to his name. They handed the parchment, in unison, to Ernie, who looked quite nervous as he accepted it.

“Well, we are prefects, some of us,” Ernie said, looking from Hermione to Harry. “If this list were to be found…if Umbridge were to find out…”

“Ernie,” Hermione said impatiently. “Do you really think I’d just leave this list lying around?”

“No,” he accepted. “No, ‘course not. I’ll sign.” And he did. Hannah followed promptly, and then handed the quill and parchment to me.

I stared at the page. There was a small pang of anxiety and fear that lived in me, putting my name down in ink on this parchment. But I looked up, and saw Harry watching me with encouragement in his eyes. _Cedric would sign._ I could almost hear him thinking it. Without a second thought, I signed my name.

*

I tripped around Hogsmead with Hannah and Ernie for a bit. Actually bought a new quill, and then a notebook, before deciding to head back to the dormitories. I’d only just left the village when I saw Draco leaning against the stone wall of the path, making fun of some second-year Hufflepuffs as they passed. I steeled myself and then drove forward.

“Cut it out,” I told him, sharply, and waived the second years on their way. They looked to me, curiously grateful, as Draco fell silent, and then scampered on their way. “You’ve lost your henchmen.”

“They went to get an antidote for Crabbe’s head. Idiot took some prank candy.”

“So you’ve just been sitting out here alone?” I asked, smirking. “Bullying children? Good look for you, Malfoy.”

“Oh, I was just waiting for you.” He got to his feet, leaning over me. I backed into the wall. “See, I’m not quite done with you.”

“Sorry?” I squeaked, taken aback.

“I’d asked you a question, earlier. You didn’t reply.”

“I don’t owe you a response, Draco.” I tried to step by him but he sleekly stepped into my path, blocking me from moving.

“See, I’d rather you just say it. Admit it.”

“Admit what?”

“That you still care.” He said it easily, confidently. “You think that just because you haven’t said it out loud, I don’t know. But the way your nostrils flared when I brought up Pansy…”

“You’re sick for trying to get a rise out of me.”

“Oh, I wasn’t trying.”

“You’re not going to, either.” I took a deep breath. “Not after what happened last year. See, you might not be done with me. But I’m done with you.”

“Is that so?” He asked, looking quite pleased with himself. “Because if you were really done, Diggory? You wouldn’t be talking to me. You wouldn’t look for moments to speak to me—yes, I know you do that—and you certainly wouldn’t be jealous.”

And without letting me reply, he turned on me, heading back into Hogsmeade as my stomach bubbled and flipped with nerves. I put a hand to my cheek, feeling for heat, but my entire body was burning up. The worse part about it all, despite my rage and my confusion, was that he was absolutely, infuriatingly right. I was jealous.


	15. The Precipice

For a mere few days, things went by smoothly and without distraction. I took mock OWL papers in two classes, attended Quidditch practice. Things were going just fine, until a scroll had come for me in Herbology class, sealed with silver wax. Professor Sprout looked rather put out as I opened it where I sat, but I recognized Snape’s seal when I saw it.

_We need to discuss your recent performance. Come to my office at noon._

“What’s that?” Daphne asked, peering over my shoulder. She dropped a handful of Puffapod seeds on the table, which instantly bloomed. Sprout sighed loudly before waving her wand and causing them to disappear.

“No idea,” I murmured, tucking the scroll into my pocket. Across the table, Hannah was expertly squeezing her Puffapods into a reinforced pot, her tongue poking out slightly between her lips as she took her time. I racked my brains as panic set in, trying to figure out what I’d done wrong. I’d gotten an _E_ on the mock potions OWL, that surely couldn’t be the issue. In my distraction, I nearly grabbed a Screechsnap seedling instead of the Puffapods, only halting when the seed let out a loud, piercing squeal.

I couldn’t help that a few spots down from Hannah, Draco was taking meticulous care not to look at me. He’d gone suspiciously quiet after that day in Hogsmeade. He hadn’t said a word to me besides _Pass the peas,_ at dinner one night. I’d seen him with Pansy in the library, his head bowed as he tried to read even as she draped her arms around his neck from behind. I’d fumed all the way down to my spot, hating myself for being bothered, envying Pansy for her position, hating Draco for playing puppetmaster.

I slipped away from the rest of the class before they went to lunch, heading down into the Dungeons. It grew quieter and darker the closer I got to Snape’s office, the torches seeming to relent to the inevitable darkness. I knocked, sharply, and heard the slow, steady drawl of:

“Come in.”

Snape’s office was rather large, with arched ceilings, but dim and poorly lit. The shelves were stocked with jars, clustered together by height, holding potions and strange ingredients. Snape sat at his desk, reading from a neatly torn sleeve of parchment as I entered, not looking up to acknowledge me as I took a seat. I knew better than to speak before being addresses, so I waited until he had finished, setting down the parchment to look at me.

“It has come to my attention that you are falling behind on your prefect duties.”

“Excuse me?” I queried, heat and anger blossoming across my cheeks. It was a falsity; I took care to patrol the hallways on Wednesday and Saturday evenings, as mandated, helped the first years find their classes when needed, actively refrained from giving out detentions to Pansy (though admittedly, I longed to do it).

“I have received complaints,” he continued, plowing past my outburst. “From a few of your Slytherin classmates, that they feel as if you are not living up to your full duties.”

“Professor, that’s not true.” I knew, immediately, who’d made the report. No doubt in my mind that Pansy, simpering as she did so, told Snape that: _Professor, I just see that she’s so busy, all the time! I know my classmates and myself just feel that we deserve more attention from our Prefect. Not one whose attention seems divided._ I could see it clear as day. “I patrol the halls Wednesdays and Saturdays, I—”

“You do your basic tasks?” Snape sneered. “We shall make sure of it. You’re to do your tasks alongside Malfoy. He will make sure you complete them to full satisfaction.”

“You’re joking,” I spat. “Draco doesn’t do a thing—”

Snape opened his mouth to reprimand me, but from outside the door, there came a loud bang. Someone had set off Dungbombs in the hallway, down near the common room. Snape stood, sweeping up his robes.

“Probationary period,” he warned. “One month, and we shall reevaluate whether or not your position will be replaced.”

And just like that, he swept from the room like some horrid, sallow bat. I sighed, rolling my head back and forth on my neck, and stood to go. However, the parchment he’d been reading just before I arrived caught my eye. In neat print, I saw the words: _By Order of the High Inquisitor._ _All Student Organizations, Teams, Groups, Societies and Clubs are henceforth disbanded._ My stomach, already twisting from Snape’s accusation, turned cold. Was it possible that someone had seen us in the Hog’s Head that weekend? Someone had reported us to Umbridge? I nearly tripped out of Snape’s office, my mind brewing up ludicrous, terrible thoughts of what she’d do to us, all of us that signed that list, when:

“What’s up, Diggory?” Malfoy was leaning against a pillar near the end of the hall, polishing an apple on the front of his robes. He tossed it up into the air and then caught it in the same hand. “Got called in for bad behavior?”

“No,” I denied, feeling foul. “What are you even doing down here?”

“You’ve got a problem with existing now?”

I began to walk away, unable to muster a response, but he danced up alongside of me, looking positively smug.

“It’s a Wednesday.”

“And?”

“That’s no way to talk to your superior Prefect.”

I stopped in my tracks, my book bag slipping from my shoulder as I glanced up at him. Through narrowed eyes, I could see a glint of savage pride in his eyes. I’d been too quick to evaluate the situation.

“You reported me,” I said aloud.

“That seems very petty.”

“Unbelievable. You know I’m the one doing everything.”

“No, I think if that were true, I wouldn’t have told Professor Snape I’d babysit. At his request, of course.”

“I hate you,” I seethed.

“We both know that’s not true,” he said, sleekly. “So I’ll meet you in the common room tonight, then. Say, around eleven?”

“Eat dirt,” I responded, laying on heavy acid in my tone, before walking away.

“So that’s a yes,” he called after me, sounding irritably cheeky.

Daphne was waiting for me outside the Charms classroom, holding half of a turkey sandwich in hand. She plaintively offered it to me, and then took a bottle of pumpkin juice from her bag, and handed that to me too. I accepted them, feeling quite grateful for her.

“Snape?” She asked, as we filed inside.

“Miserable,” I replied, lowering my tone. “Malfoy told him I’m slacking on Prefect duties.”

“But you’re not!”

“I know I’m not. But now everything I do will be overseen by Commander Hair Gel over there, and then Snape will reevaluate my standing after a month.” Rows over, Draco bunched up small pieces of parchment with Crabbe and Goyle, before throwing them at the back of Hermione’s head to see if they’d stick in her hair. I took a bite of the sandwich, chewing quickly before the lesson started.

“He’s a little pissant, isn’t he?” Daphne declared, furrowing her brow at him, throwing knives with her eyes.

“Exactly the word I was searching for.” Pansy strolled by, knocking a sturdy hip against my elbow so that the rest of my sandwich tumbled to the floor. I threw up my hands before reaching for my wand, preparing to vanish the leftovers. As if nothing had happened at all, Pansy took a seat next to Draco, leaning over to run her hand along his hair with vile openness. I’d never looked forward to a class ending quicker than that one did.

*

“You’re late.” I sat in the Slytherin common room after most of the students had drifted upstairs. A few sat clumped around the fire, still. Blaise, looking foul, was re-writing a Potions essay he’d received a ‘P’ on, for poor. Draco came down the stairs at 11:04, and I checked my watch triumphantly, knowing I’d been there for a solid twenty minutes already. From my pocket, I pulled a piece of parchment and laid it on the coffee table, leaning over to scribe: _Late to Patrol Hallways._

“What are you doing?” Draco asked, sounding exasperated.

“I figured if you’re going to evaluate me, to make sure standards are up, I only do the same for you. It should be across the board, no?”

“Whatever,” he muttered, gesturing. “Let’s go?”

The smugness he’d had earlier seemed to have worn off. His eyes and jaw seemed to droop a bit, and the sting of mean cleverness I’d had while marking his lateness faded away. We walked out of the Common Room, in tandem, telling a group of fourth years to get back inside even as they grumbled.

“What, the shining glory of making me look bad has lost its appeal so quickly?” I broached, after a few moments.

“No.” His hand flexed and then curled into a fist by his side.

“Your disposition tonight is just incredible. Really.”

He trod alongside me in silence. As we grew closer to the kitchens, a pair of fourth years, slowly trailing behind the group we’d seen earlier, stopped to lean back against the wall, pressing their mouths together hungrily; they were fully unaware of our presence.

“Oi!” I said, startling the pair of them apart. Before I could tell them to get back to the common room, Draco swept down on them, looking furious.

“Ten points from Slytherin. You know the bloody curfew, or are you illiterate? Mute? Dumb, maybe—”

“Hey,” I interjected, throwing an arm out across his chest. He was shaking. I turned back to the students as he lapsed into silence. “First warning, okay? Second is detention. Go back. Now.”

Draco’s breathing was heavy and uneven as they left, and he wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. Slightly worried, I crossed my arms and watched him as he breathed, even as he avoided my eyes.

“You want to tell me what that was about?”

“I got them back to the dormitory, didn’t I?”

“No, I got them to go back. You just began screaming for no reason at all.”

“Go on then,” he sneered. “Write it down in your notes, take it back to Snape, for all I care.”

“Why don’t you just tell me what that was about?”

He snorted dismissively. “Like you care.”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I? Asking? The least you could do is tell me why you’re in such a terrible mood if I’m going to spend—”

“It’s just something from home, it’s none of your concern, really.”

He spat it out, bitterly, but with the quickness of someone who’d let it sit on them too long. Both afraid and eager to expel it.

“Something from home? Like?”

“What’d you get on that Potions O.W.L.?”

“The practice exam? An E.”

“Christ, of course,” he swore, rolling his eyes back quite dramatically. “I got an A, alright? Acceptable.”

“And? That’s passing.”

“Not in my father’s eyes.”

“Ah.”

“Anything to add?”

In that moment, he looked quite small. Like the boy whose foot I’d run over on the Platform at King’s Cross Station. I could almost see his father looming over him, pointed face marked with disappointment. I felt a sudden, nearly unwelcome rush of kinship towards him.

“Yes. You’re quite smart, you know.” His head snapped up, but he didn’t reply; merely watched, as if to suss out any lies I might be feeding him. “I know you do well on exams, when you study for them. But a lot of the time, I don’t think you…try as hard as you could. You sit in the back of class and laugh it up with those morons you’re friends with. You can’t always coast by on just being smart.”

“Ah, another lecture. Yes, thanks, I already got laid into.”

“I’m not laying into you. I just think that…well, I think you might like to prove yourself. I know that I do. So I study for that, so I can.”

“That’s how you got that E.”

“Right.”

“Your advice to me is that I should study…to get better grades?” He sneered. “Revolutionary.”

“Alright, alright.” I turned on my heel. “Let’s just get on with this, shall we?”

We walked in silence for a few moments, him following me by just a few steps. The sweep of the Dungeons revealed that no one was out of bed, and we looped around, heading back towards the common room.

“You don’t need to prove yourself,” he said, suddenly, as we got closer to the common room. “I know you try it all the time, but you don’t need to.”

“Why is that?” I asked.

“Because,” he said, walking past me even when I stopped. He looked back over his shoulder. “I wasn’t really all that surprised when you said you got an E. I knew you’d do better than me. You’ve proven yourself just fine.”

“Draco—” I began, heartened, but he cut me off.

“I’ll tell Snape you’ve done your job fine.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re not…” he looked back and forth, as if we were being listened to. “You’re not going to tell anyone what I’ve said, are you?”

“No, why would I?”

The furrow in his brow was easily translatable. _Because I’ve been nothing but a git this year, and for most of the years before this one._

“No, I won’t. Your secret’s safe.”

And grimacing slightly, he gave the password to the common room.

*

As I left Herbology in the morning, Hannah and Ernie sidled up next to me, sandwiching me and guiding me out of the flowing path of Slytherins as we peeled off for our break between classes. Daphne looked to me questioningly, but I waved her on, knowing that if Ernie was sticking behind, this was not a run of the mill conversation.

“Harry asked me to get to you,” Hannah whispered as we ducked behind a large Belladonna plant. “Tonight, the first meeting is tonight.”

“But the ban. How will…?”

“There’s a room. On the seventh floor, where they can’t find us.” Ernie glanced over his shoulder. “You know that portrait of the dancing hippos?”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it.”

“There’s a huge stretch of wall next to it. There will be a door when you get there. Don’t let anyone else see you go in.”

“Okay. Now go, it looks weird I’ve stayed behind with just you two.”

Hannah and Ernie scampered away. I spent a few minutes standing alone, in the greenhouse, before I followed them out, heading down to the Potions classroom. I was almost late, scraping in with about a minute before class started. I took my seat next to Daphne, who didn’t look up as I skidded into my stool, nearly knocking it astray.

“Is Hannah mad at me?” She asked, not looking up.

“What?”

“I mean, I know she’s gotten more distant since she’s started seeing Ernie, and I’m more distant since seeing Blaise, but it would be very stupid if—"

“No, she’s not mad at you. She just…had Prefect’s stuff. Heard about my little issue.”

“Oh.”

I hated hiding things from Daphne, most of the time. Some things that caused me embarrassment—the way I cried at night, or how I felt when I looked at Draco—those things I kept to myself with ease. But other things, bigger things, maybe life-staking things, were becoming more prevalent. I watched her doodle on the corner of her parchment, and thought of how she’d been loyal to me since the very first day. But I also saw her at times—entwined with Blaise, parents at the Ministry, and wondered if her loyalty knew bounds. Bounds that I could respect, ones I wouldn’t test.

“You alright?” She asked, looking up at me with confusion in her cornflower eyes.

“I’m fine,” I assured her, and plastered a smile on my face. “Really.”

*

On the seventh floor, as Ernie and Hannah had promised, there was a single door planted into the span of wall. I arrived at the same time Ginny Weasley did, following her in as she pulled it open without fear (and also failing to glance around her). Inside, there was a large, vaulted room, the walls covered in mirrors. There were bookshelves overflowing with titles I hadn’t read, large poufs on the floor. It was well-lit and warm. Harry stood near a fireplace, looking nervously eager.

“Wow, Harry,” Ginny said, looking around. “This place is great.”

In silent agreement, I went to the bookshelf, immediately pulling one down to flip through. _The Dark Arts Outmatched._

“What do you think?” Harry asked, joining my side. His eyes ran over the book in my hands.

“It would only get better if there was a coffee cart,” I noted, hugging the book to my chest.

“Of course,” he relented, and I sank into the closest cushion on the floor. Hannah, arriving shortly after a pack of more Gryffindors, crossed the room and sunk down next to me as Ernie pompously greeted Harry, who looked amused and annoyed by his behavior.

Around eight, everyone had arrived, and every cushion in the room had been occupied. People were chatting, aloud, and Harry stood by the fireplace looking rather afraid to speak. He tried to speak a few times, and was promptly talked over, until Ginny Weasley let out a small _hem hem_ that sounded so much like Umbridge that someone shrieked, and then the room dissolved into laughter.

“Well,” Harry started. “Welcome, I guess. This is the room we’ve found for practices, you all seem to have found it okay.”

“It’s fantastic,” Cho said aloud, from a spot behind me. Several people nodded in agreement.

Next to Harry, Hermione was pinning up the sheet of paper we’d all signed. She tapped the parchment with her wand, and it flattened against the wall, sticking smoothly. She turned on her heel and tapped Harry on the shoulder.

“What, Hermione?”

“I think we should elect a leader,” she said, primly but firmly.

“Harry’s leader,” I said, aloud.

“Right, but shall we have a proper vote. If you think Harry should be, raise your—oh.”

At once, everyone had raised their hand. Harry’s face had gone so red that it looked like a summer tomato.

“I think we ought to have a name, too. To promote…unity.”

“The Anti-Umbridge League!” An older Gryffindor suggested.

“The Ministry are Morons Group,” Fred or George shouted.

“Maybe something more subtle, so people don’t know what we’re up to,” Hermione cut in, frowning at the twins.

“The Defense League?” Cho said. “D.A. for short?”

“D.A’s good,” Ginny interrupted smoothly. “But how about Dumbledore’s Army? Since they seem to fear that.”

There was some genial laughter in the room.

“All in favor of the D.A?” Hermione asked, counting hands. “That’s a majority. Passed.”

She pointed her wand at the sign-up sheet behind her. At the top of the page, ink bloomed neatly. Above our names it read Dumbledore’s Army.

“Right,” Harry guided, now seeming to take some control. “I thought we might start with a disarming jinx.”

“But that’s easy—” Zacharias Smith began.

“If you think it’s beneath you, you can go. But it saved my life last June.”

And with that, the first lesson began.

*

“Hey, Logan.” At ten past nine, everyone had begun to leave on Harry’s orders. They’d be fined or given detention for being out late, unless they were a prefect. But Harry beckoned me over, and I stayed, but not before marking my page in the book I’d pulled down earlier. “What did you think? How did it go?”

“I think it went well,” I said, and then, thinking of how many people had accidentally started small fires or somehow caused sneakascopes to fly across the room, added: “I didn’t know so many people struggled with that.”

“Simple but effective. I wanted to know if there was anything you wanted to add, maybe. Something you think we should learn?”

“Harry, just because my brother died doesn’t mean I know what will be effective.”

“No, I didn’t mean…”

“I just mean that, look, I’ve learned a lot of spells. And I want to learn more. But I don’t…I’m missing the other half of the equation, right? When to use these spells. What ones should be employed, even. That’s where you come in.”

“So, that’s a no.”

“That’s more of a…I trust you.”

Although he’d feared, no doubt, he’d stung me before with his suggestion, he smiled broadly. I liked his smile; it seemed wholly genuine. I supposed that he didn’t have reason to smile all that much, so I said:

“Did I do alright? I could see you hovering, watching all of us.”

“You beat Hannah almost every time. I think the only time she disarmed you was when you were nearly clobbered by that book Luna accidentally sent flying…”

“But that’s Hannah. Do you think I could stand against you?”

“Do you want to try?”

“No, not yet,” I said hastily, and his smile widened. “Think you might have a leg up.” I glanced at the clock. It was nine twenty. “You should probably get going. You can’t be out of bed this late.”

He nodded in agreement but added: “What good is it having Prefect friends if they can’t get me out of a detention or two?”

“Ah, my status is a bit on the ropes.”

“Why?”

“Malfoy, of course.” I looped my bag over my shoulder and walked slowly towards the door. “Told Snape I’ve been slacking on my duties so he could just…torture me. He gets to report to Snape on all of my failures as a Prefect.”

“Of course.” Harry bit down on his lip.

“What?”

“Well, I just…you’re not friends with him?”

“Malfoy?” I choked. I felt his hands on my lips, his lips on mine. Swooned at the scent of peppermint. “No. Course not. He’s a bully and his father is…you know what he is. You trying to decide if I’m trustworthy, Potter?”

“No,” he said, simply. “I know you are. It’s not so much you I’m worried about as I am him.”

We stepped out of the room and into the hallway. It was luxuriously quiet, but Harry kept his voice down as the door began to disappear behind us.

“I worry that if he knows we are friends, he might react badly towards you.”

“He knows already.” I shrugged. “It can’t get worse.”

“It might. I wonder if…he’s never, well, he’s never…”

“Made some sort of advance on me?”

Harry flushed.

“Yeah. I just think that maybe he likes you. Maybe that’s why he pulled that move. To spend time with you. He strikes me as someone who…once they’re on a path, they can’t just hop off.”

“Well.” I picked at my nail, avoiding his eyes. “It’s not mutual.” 

“Good,” he exhaled. “Just because…you know. He’s a git.”

“Agreed.”

“No other reason.”

His neck and ears were starting to redden, too. I felt a flash of realization, of nerves. Like we were standing too close.

“Erm,” I said aloud, beginning to back away. “I’ll just…see you, soon?”

“Yeah.” Harry backed away in the opposite direction, pulling a silver cloak from his pocket. “Soon.”

*

Some weirdness has passed between us, a fleeting moment of déjà vu that I’d only felt once before. That morning after Draco had kissed me for the first time, and I had hesitated in how to greet him. Like I were balancing on a dangerous, sloping precipice, unable to fall forward or back. I hurried to the Slytherin common room, pressing a hand to my face to feel for a blush—which had curled over my cheeks without my knowledge. I bust through the common room door and went straight up to the dormitory, ignoring Draco and Pansy, who sat on the same couch. I heard a distinct giggle follow me up the stairs, but I didn’t slow until I’d reached the dormitory and shut myself inside. It was mercifully empty, except for Merlin, who awaited me on my bed, meowing.

“Hi,” I greeted him, scooping him up into my arms and planting a kiss on the top of his head. Instead, he hissed, and batted out a paw towards the room.

I realized, at that moment, that something had changed. I felt the nerves in my stomach, already heightened, wheel and dip sickeningly. I set Merlin down on my bed. My scarf, which I’d folded earlier and placed on top of my trunk, had been folded differently. Instead of being folded into thirds, it was draped in half. I shoved it aside and opened my trunk. My robes were still neatly folded, books stacked. But one thing was glaringly missing.

The letters I’d written to Draco, all summer, that stack tied neatly with string?

It was gone.


	16. The Match

As had become silent custom, Draco waited outside the common room Wednesday and Saturday nights, once he’d extracted himself from Pansy. I’d join him and we’d do our rounds, looping through the Dungeons like a figure eight. On the third week of this, I’d just finished up a D.A. meeting and run downstairs, dodging Mrs. Norris before finding Draco waiting outside. He was leaning against the wall, a book in his hands, snapping it shut as he heard me approach.

“You’re not late,” he said, before I could even speak, but raised a brow. “Your hair is a mess.”

Consciously, I touched my ends, and found that they were singed and frayed. Neville was getting quite good at the reductor curse, when he could aim.

“Accident in the library. With a candle,” I explained, pulling my hair back. “Come on, we should get to it.”

We’d just rounded the corner outside Snape’s office when I saw the title of the book in his hands. _Ancient Principles of Alchemy._

“Alchemy?” I asked, and he flinched, as if he’d forgotten he was holding the book. He looked down at the black-leather cover, which had been embellished with flecks of gold. “That’s a sixth-year class.”

“I’m trying to decide if it’s worth my time,” he said shortly.

“It’s notoriously tricky. Why would you take it?”

He cleared his throat.

“I had my career discussion with Snape. You’ll have yours soon, I’d expect.”

“And?”

“And what?”

I halted in my tracks.

“You’d take Alchemy because of what you want to do, then?”

He scoffed aloud.

“Are you asking me what I plan to do with my life?”

“If you’re willing to share.”

For a long moment, he didn’t answer. He simply stared at me, as if evaluating whether or not to speak, before he said:

“I don’t think it’s really my choice.”

“How’s that?”

Again, he scoffed.

“Your parents don’t ask? They don’t have opinions?”

I blinked. No one had ever bothered to venture a question about my parents like that. I’d received one letter that year from them, which mentioned fair weather and a new owl they’d purchased. There had been no queries of my work, how I was doing. No mention of Cedric.

“My parents don’t care enough about me to have an opinion,” I said, bluntly. Draco remained unblinkingly stony, but his skin turned slightly pink from embarrassment. “So, no. Not that I know of.”

“My father has his ideas of what I should do. Banking, legislation.”

“And you don’t feel the same.”

He cocked his head. “I think I could be a potioneer, or even specialize in Alchemy, if I practiced enough. I’ve always been decent at potions.”

I nodded. “Maybe your father’s opinions should take a back seat.”

“It doesn’t really work that way in my family.” He looked down at the book, and back to me. “What my father wants is law. And you? What do you want to do?”

“I can’t say for sure.” I crossed my arms. “It almost seems silly to say when…” I trailed off. The words on my tongue went stale and died before I could expel them. _When we’re faced with imminent war and death._ I shook my head. “I actually wanted to work in Wizengamot, when I was a kid. As a barrister. I had a little hammer I used as a gavel and everything. Not so sure about that anymore.”

“I could see it. As a barrister, not a member of council.” He screwed up his face and looked at the ceiling, as if it were painful to admit. “You’re fierce. I’d want you on my side.”

“Is that a compliment?”

“If you take it as one.” My nerves prickled with uncomfortable joy.

“I think you’d make a good potioneer, for the record.” I fidgeted on the spot. “You…you seem to be a natural. And your father? He’s got to get better at just appreciating you…you’re his son. And you care so much about what he thinks. He should reciprocate your respect.”

Lightly, even teasingly, he said: “Maybe I’ll hire you to be my representative. Make a case on my behalf so my father. Since you’re so convincing.”

“Come on,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “Let’s finish up this Patrol, shall we? You can return to your book and I can go to sleep.”

“You can go back,” he said, with a shrug of his shoulders. “I’ll finish.”

“Not a chance. Not until Snape lifts this stupid probationary period.”

“Actually, I told him to. This week. I told him that you’d been helpful. Annoying helpful, actually. Bordering on—”

“Alright, alright. But I mean…it can’t hurt to finish this one up with you? Just finish the round.”

Unless I imagined it, he fought a smirk.

“No,” he said, falling into quiet step beside me. “It can’t.”

*

November arrived much quicker than I expected, and Umbridge began to tighten her noose over the school. Classes had fallen silent now, as she blinked her bulging eyes at us as we read from the textbook. Students lined up outside her office for detentions, filing in like toy soldiers. Teachers received evaluations; she’d interviewed our Quidditch team to make sure all was in order before granting it a legitimate club status.

But even with Umbridge looming, she couldn’t diminish every bit of my life. Our first match of the year, against Gryffindor, was set for the first Saturday of the month. We’d been practicing multiple times a week—punting Quaffles over and over again, playing catch until my fingers were sore and calloused. Draco had taken to taunting the Gryffindor team in our classes and the hallway—Harry was not easy to scare, but Ron Weasley always turned a pale green and looked sea sick when Malfoy pulled out the taunts. I knew better than to participate or offer any enjoyment or support of his antics; it was only what happened on the field that would secure victory.

The morning of the game, I went lighter on the coffee than usual, instead choosing to drink a healthy amount of water. I skipped the toast and went for light eggs instead, causing Daphne, sitting across from me, to frown in concern.

“One cup?” She asked, eyeing my mug.

“I don’t want coffee sloshing around my stomach when I’m trying to fly.” I sliced into a piece of bacon. A few seats down, Draco, Crabbe and Goyle had slid into place. Zabini strolled into the hall luxuriously late, wearing a handsomely green jumper to show support. A few tables away, I could see Luna Lovegood wearing a hat that appeared to be made of a lion’s head.

“Hey, Diggory.” I hadn’t seen Pansy enter behind Zabini, only revealing her stooped stature once he slid into the seat next to Daphne. She was wearing a sweater embroidered with a large snake, and a silver, sparkly scarf looped around her neck. “It’s your first game today, isn’t it?”

Down the table, Draco delicately balanced his knife and fork on the edges of his plate and leaned forward to listen, taking care not to let his robes dip into his orange juice.

“Yes,” I responded, quite terse.

“I wanted to say good luck today.”

“Oh.” I cocked my head, waiting for her to strike. But she merely smiled. “Thanks?”

“I just hope that your alliances serve you well.”

And without another word, she flounced down the length of the table, taking the seat across from Draco and next to Millicent Bullstrode. I felt something stir in me, some dark recognition of her words that I couldn’t place. But I didn’t have time to ponder it. Before I could even say a word, Montague was on his feet, shouting for us to join him.

*

“Nervous?” I was fiddling with my gloves, flexing my fingers and making sure the leather was broken in to my liking as I exited the female dressing room. Draco was standing outside the men’s room, holding his broom in one hand and looking quite calm, but determined nonetheless.

“Oh. No. A bit, maybe.” I raised my thumb to bite down on the nail, but Draco raised a hand and beckoned. I looked down at my glove and realized I hadn’t tied it. With a quick and easy hand, he laced up my glove, tying it tightly as he looped the strings around my wrist without a word. My stomach wheeled and dipped while I watched his fingers work. “Thank you.”

“You’re not going to throw this match, are you? Because you’re so close with Potter?”

Draco spat his name like it was venomous.

“Of course not.” I flexed my fingers again, and he dropped my wrist. “The team comes first here, doesn’t it?”

“Just here?”

“On the pitch? During a match? Obviously.”

“And outside of it?”

“Oi! You two!” Miles Bletchley poked his head out of the dressing room, looking put out. “Come on, we’re set to walk on in a few. Get in here.”

Draco pushed open the flapping door to the room, and I followed him inside. The team was sitting on benches as Montague waited, hands clasped behind his back. I took a seat next to Pucey, who quietly nodded to me. Crabbe and Goyle were tapping their beater’s bats against the palms of their hands, impatiently.

“I hope you lot are ready for this,” Montague began. “Gryffindor is a good team—no snickering, we know this. We know that they’re good. But they’re stupid. Impulsive. Arrogant. We have strategy, don’t we? This may be our best lineup. We’ve got fast fliers in Diggory, Malfoy, and Pucey. They are your first fliers, understand? They are to get us points. You get the quaffle, get it to Diggory or Pucey. Crabbe, Goyle, no one touches Malfoy. Make sure of it. Let’s wipe a smile off a Gryffindor’s face today, shall we?”

There was a bark of laughter behind me, and then we were filing out, brooms in hand. My stomach dipped as I saw the pitch for the first time, walking out onto the freshly trimmed grass. The stands were completely full, roaring and rippling with noise. Lee Jordan was speaking quickly into the magnified microphone—I could hear him say my name and I heard cheers from somewhere, but I couldn’t pay attention. All I could feel and hear was the rush in my ears as I saw the Gryffindors take flight, zooming effortlessly into the air. Harry flew overhead, grinning down at me as the wind tossed my hair. 

“Logan,” Draco said, pushing my arm. His eyes were burning with intensity. I blinked and saw that everyone else was posed to take flight. “Focus up. You can see your boyfriend later.”

“He’s not—” I began, but it didn’t matter. Montague pushed off, and then Pucey, then Malfoy, and I followed, feeling slightly more grounded up in the air, above the stands. I watched as Madam Hooch released the snitch, and then the quaffle. She blew her whistle, shortly, and the stadium rocked with noise. The match had begun. I took off, looping over Montague as Angelina Johnson seized the Quaffle. Pucey dove under her, trying to knock it from her hands, but she shot—

Bletchley saved it. He caught the Quaffle and tossed it to Montague, who sloth rolled to avoid one bludger, and I shot out under him and Pucey above, sandwiching him until:

A bludger zoomed over my left shoulder and arched around, clubbing Montague in the back of the head with a sickening thud. I heard screams in the crowd as he dropped the Quaffle. I reached out and caught it—the leather supple in my hands.

“Go!” Pucey screamed, and I saw Crabbe wildly swing a bludger at an approaching Katie Bell. I flattened against my broom, zig zagging to avoid well-placed bludgers by Fred and George, coming up on Ron who looked sickened—

Before I could even shoot, he leaped, his arms spread wide, leaving the other hoops entirely open. I sunk the Quaffle easily through the center hoop. There were screams and cheers from the crowds, I heard Lee Jordan announce it:

“Slytherin Scores! That’s Diggory with ten points, girl’s got an arm, that’s for sure. Better luck next time, Ron.”

A resounding chant was rising up from the Slytherin stands: _Weasley is our King/He cannot save a single thing/He cannot block a single thing._

Angelina grabbed the quaffle and took off, her speed nearly leaving me spinning as she fled past. I followed, but not before Pucey knocked into her side; she dropped the Quaffle and I lunged, but then ducked as Fred directed a bludger at my arm, missing only by centimeters. He grinned and waved as I frowned, following up on the chasers. Angelina had it again, then passed it to Katie, before Montague punched it out from her grasp, suddenly tailing down the field and sinking the quaffle through the center hoop, neatly past Ron’s hands. In the Slytherin stands, I could see Pansy enthusiastically conducting our classmates to scream: _Weasley is our King._

It was hopeless for Ron. We were too fast, too precise. I scored again, and then Pucey, and I heard Harry curse as he flew by me, diving towards the ground to see the snitch. And then—I heard grasps and screams in the crowd. I whipped around where I bobbed in the sky; Harry and Malfoy were nose-diving at the same time, rocketing against the wind towards the Snitch. I could see their arms outreached, Draco batting at Harry’s hands, squabbling as he tried to close his fingers around the Snitch, but—Harry’s fingers closed around the Snitch and he yanked his broom upwards, smoothly. He raised it into the sky, looking quite pleased. Gryffindor had won.

Draco touched down onto the ground as the Stadium erupted into cheers. I watched as he ripped off his glove, tossing it aside, in anger. I dismounted next to him, watching his chest rise and fall with anger.

“Hey, Draco, that was so close, I—”

“Come to gloat?” He asked, rounding on me. “Potter’s proved himself to be the better man?”

“No, why would you think that?”

He was white-faced with fury, and I watched his hand fold into a fist as Harry touched down with the Gryffindor team. Somewhere in the crowd, Luna’s hat roared with Victory. I could feel the humiliation rolling off Draco in waves, and it rose up the back of my neck, too.

“Come on, let’s go—” I said, pointing towards the changing room.

“Potter!” He shouted suddenly, and Harry turned. I froze on the spot, still grasping my broom. “Saved Weasley’s neck, haven’t you? Never seen a worse keeper in my life. Did you like my lyrics? I felt like there was some missed opportunities, I didn’t have any time to write about how fat and ugly his mother is.”

“Draco,” I hissed, horrified. _Ten, nine, eight, seven._ Harry turned away, his shoulders stiffening. “Stop it, okay? We’ll win next time.”

As if he couldn’t hear me, he continued:

“We couldn’t fit in useless loser about his father, either.” I watched the twins turn around in unison, and I felt a stab of fear and concern. I grabbed Draco’s arm, tugging hard, but he shook me away. _Six, five, four._ Montague called his name, but Draco ignored him.

“You like the Weasleys, don’t you Potter? Like staying in that hovel of theirs during holidays? Tell me, Potter: Does the stink remind you of your own mother’s pigsty?” _Three, two._

_One._ The reaction happened in almost no time. I saw Harry and George sprinting forward and Angelina grabbing Fred, holding his shoulders as he began to shout. I felt Pucey grab my arms and pull me back, grabbing me as George and Harry leapt on Draco as he leered. I screamed aloud, saw fists swinging and a spurt of blood, and I shook free. Suddenly, all I could see were flashes of a maze, heard screams and saw Cedric’s body.

“Stop it!” I screamed, launching forward. I grabbed Harry’s fist before he could throw another punch at Malfoy, and he froze, his eyes hurt and questioning. There were jeers and boos in my ears, and then Harry was knocked back with a jinx, and I could hear Draco moaning. I turned to see him lying on the ground, his nose bleeding as he winced and curled up, rolling onto his side.

“What is the matter with you?” I screeched, bending over. “What in the hell was that? We’re going to get penalized!”

He struggled to sit up, spitting blood from his mouth.

“Looks like you chose your side, didn’t you?”

“You idiot,” I remarked. “What you said to Harry?” I felt my blood boiling, color creeping up my cheeks. “Going after his dead mother like that? That’s disgusting.”

“He—”

“No.” I shook my head. I felt my lungs contract and grow heavy. “Is that what you say about me, once I’ve gone? When I’m not in the room, do you make fun of my family for the fact my brother was murdered? Do you taunt me because I lost someone?”

“No,” I could see blood staining his teeth as he began to speak, holding out a hand palm up, as if he was pleading with me. “I wouldn’t say that about you.”

“Maybe he is the better man.” I gripped my broom a bit tighter and with my other hand, dug tissues out of my pocket. I threw them at him, and they fluttered down to the ground uselessly. If I hadn’t just heard him, listened to his hate spewing from his bloodied mouth, I might feel pity for him as he lay crumpled on the grass.

*

I arrived early at the last D.A meeting before the Christmas break. I hadn’t spoken to Harry directly since that day at the pitch; I could tell he was avoiding me. He’d ducked around me at meetings, only addressing me once I was in a pair or a group. Hermione had continued to treat me as if the match hadn’t happened, but Ron had kept his distance, and the twins seemed rather chilly as well. I knew they saw my loyalty to the team as a personal affront; I wanted nothing more to explain that things weren’t so black and white as they were grey, but knew some time might make things easier to mend. I waited until the last D.A. meeting before I made my move, knowing that Harry would probably arrive early to set up or wait.

As I suspected, Harry had indeed arrived early, and when I entered the Room of Requirement, I found him taking down armful of Christmas bobbles that prominently displayed his face. I couldn’t help but chortle aloud and he nearly dropped all of them, blushing furiously.

“A bit self-infatuated, are we?” I asked, as he shoved the baubles and sashes into the closet.

“Dobby the house elf hung them,” he said, defensively. “Can you help me take down this tinsel with my face on it, please?”

“Yeah. Although I wish you would leave it. I’d give anything to see the twin’s faces if you did.” When he didn’t answer, I sighed, grabbing one end of the tinsel on the wall and pulling it off. “Harry, can we just talk for a moment?”

“About what?” He said, rolling the tinsel up and throwing it into the closet. He didn’t look at me.

“What happened at the Quidditch Match last month. You won’t even look at me or speak to me, anymore. And I just…miss you. I wanted to wait to speak to you in case this just blew over but I…”

“Blew over?” Harry asked, his voice raising. “You heard what he said, you heard what Malfoy said about my mother.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. What he said was disgusting. There’s no excuse for it. But I don’t know why you won’t speak to me.”

“You held me back,” Harry replied, finally looking at me. I could hear his voice breaking and crackling as he spoke. “He insulted my mother and you didn’t let me hit him.”

“Hitting him wouldn’t have stopped him from saying it. All it was going to do was cause problems for you.”

“Is that why you did it? You stopped me to help me? Come on, Logan.”

“What’s so hard to believe about that?” I rebutted. “As if Umbridge isn’t already watching all of us, waiting for you to trip up, looking for any excuse to give you detention, even get you expelled. She banned you, didn’t she? I heard.”

“You didn’t do it for me. You did it for him.”

“No,” I said, vehemently, shaking my head. “No, I didn’t. I don’t even like him.”

“Maybe you don’t like him, maybe. But I saw the look in your eyes when you grabbed my hand.” Harry shrugged. “Wild. Almost violent. Protective. I’ve seen it before. You acted on instinct for him.”

I felt my pulse slow, moving like molasses. I choked when I began to speak.

“You don’t know.”

“Try me.”

“Since Cedric has gone, I’ve had some issues. I’m angry and paranoid, all the time. I feel like a bomb, ready to explode, and I can hear it ticking down in my head. And when I explode, it culminates with me seeing or hearing him. And when you went after him, after Draco, I just…I saw Cedric. I saw that night. And I just reacted.”

“Why wouldn’t you think I understand that? You don’t think out of everyone, I couldn’t get that?”

“It’s different, Harry. I know, and god, I’m so grateful for what you did in bringing Ced back. But you have to understand that Cedric was my best friend and my support for fourteen years, and then he was just…gone. And I haven’t really felt like myself since. So maybe something inside of me snapped or something, I don’t know. But don’t think I’m defending what Malfoy said to you. Maybe I just can’t take seeing people get hurt anymore. That means you, too.”

“Logan, I’m sorry.” Harry shook his head. “I get it. I mean, I understand as best I can. But you should have let me beat Malfoy into a pulp.”

I choked out some laughter. “I don’t blame you for wanting to. If he ever said anything like that about Cedric, I would feel the same as you do.” A silence fell upon us then, and I offered him a small, encouraging smile before he relented.

“For the record,” he said, looking rather embarrassed and sheepish. “I missed you too.”

“Yeah?” I asked. “Couldn’t tell.”

“Gotten pretty good at hiding things.” He curled his right hand into a fist, as if recalling the memories he’d tried to bury and hide. “Erm, one more thing. Could you help me hide that last banner? The one that says ‘Have a very Harry Christmas?’”

“Oh,” I said, grinning. “Absolutely not.”

*

I hadn’t planned on going home for Christmas. But I’d received a letter from my father, last minute, demanding my presence. _Your mother will be quite distraught if you’re not here,_ he’d written, though I doubted my mother would notice my presence at all. And so, as December began to close, I found myself on the Hogwarts Express sitting alongside Hannah and Ernie as the train pulled away from school, dreading what would await me.

“Snack?” Ernie asked, offering us some rather putrid smelling chips that appeared to have been dusted with a heavy coating of shrieking chili powder. I shook my head and leaned against the window, instead selecting a bar of chocolate from my bag. “Think you’ve done alright on exams, Logan?”

“Fair,” I replied, silently refusing to reveal I’d gotten an ‘O’ on all of my last practice exams, but had the ink stains on my fingers to prove it. Hannah immediately began picking apart her own Transfiguration exam, and I turned towards the window, ready to drown out the both of them. I traced my finger along the collecting condensation as I watched snow spinning by, before shivering. “I think I’ll get a coffee from the Prefect’s cabin. Does anyone want anything?”

“A sandwich,” Ernie said.

“Oh, a hot chocolate,” Hannah beamed.

I nodded and exited the compartment, dodging a fanged frisbee as I made my way down the length of the train. I’d almost just reached the prefect’s compartment when I heard Pansy, calling my name.

“Logan!” She was sticking her head out of a compartment, beaming. Her voice was sickly, dangerously sweet. “Are you going to the Prefect’s carriage? Could you be a total dear and tell me if Draco’s in there? He asked to join me.”

“No one’s in the carriage right now,” I informed her, ignoring the sting of his name. I pointed to the red light above the door. “See? Not occupied.”

“Oh. Well, anyway, I’m glad I caught you.” She stepped outside and closed the door behind her. “I just wanted to have a quick chat. About Draco.”

“About…Malfoy?”

“I know how you feel about him. About Draco.” She stepped closer, her pug-nose wrinkled as she gave me a syrupy smile. Her voice teetered in octave. “Your…connection. How he’s the only person who sees you, who understands you. That’s what you said, didn’t you?”

“What are you…” And then it hit me. A month ago, the seedling of discomfort she’d planted at breakfast. _I hope your alliances serve you well._ My words, coming out of her mouth. I felt the rush of rage inside me. “Where are they?”

“Where are what?”

I understood, suddenly, Harry’s desire to use fists against flesh, instead of a wand. “My letters.”

Pansy blinked. “I don’t know what you’re referring to, but let’s say I did. I wouldn’t tell you where they were. Even so, I just wanted to tell you to stay away. I know that you have a problem with letting go. But I’ll make it easy for you. Stay away from Draco, or else.”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” I hissed, leaning in. “You should really talk more. It’s inverted, Pansy. He chases me, not the other way around. Or don’t you remember? Those times he blew off your plans last year…?”

She flinched, as if I’d slapped her, but then righted herself.

“Stay away. Do you understand?”

“Or what?”

“Those letters? I’ll show them to everyone. No one will think of anything else but how disappointingly confused and sad you are. Desperate for someone you can’t have and doesn’t want you back? Pathetic. You’ll never find them, but don’t worry, I’ve made them safe. Only for my use, if you know what I mean.”

And then, in a perky voice that was chilling normal, she added:

“So, we’re clear then? Have the happiest Christmas, Diggory. I’ll make sure to keep him warm for you.”


	17. Principles and Memories

I took the Knight Bus home. I’d written to my parents the other week and told them not to bother coming into the City. In reality, I was already dreading my visit home, could feel my skin crawling with nerves, and wanted to spend as little time with them as possible. I hailed the bus, handing the fare to a boy with pimpled skin who looked not much older than I, and took a seat near the window, wrapping my coat tightly around my shoulders and burying my chin down into the soft wool of my scarf.

Of course, Pansy had my letters. I’m not sure how I hadn’t suspected it before. But the fact they’d gone missing had seemed like such a blip; I blinked and they were gone, and within a few days, I’d forgotten about them. It was only now, under the dark realization she had them, that I felt my nerves stir and cry out. Would she use them against me? I doubted it. She had what she wanted, Draco, and an assurance that I wouldn’t step out of line. I couldn’t bear the humiliation of Draco, or anyone, finding out what was in those letters. Pansy, who’d I’d inaccurately labeled as below-average intelligence, knew me a bit better than I’d realized. Her strategy wasn’t half bad. But the idea of a counter-strategy would have to wait, because—

“St. Ottery!” The boy screamed as the bus flew through the air, and then came to a screeching halt. Merlin yowled in his cage, and I shhh’ed him as I got to my feet, tugging my trunk alongside me as I got off the bus. To my surprise, I found my father and mother waiting for me at the stop closest to home, just down the hill from the house and quite close to the Village.

“Logan,” my mother said aloud, and wrapped her arms around me quite tightly. Though slightly alarmed, I hugged her back. I noted that she’d put on a little weight, color had returned to her cheeks, and her hair had been washed and combed. It was quite a reversal from the woman I’d seen this summer, acting almost like a vacant ghost in her own home. When she let me go, my father beamed, put a hand on my shoulder warmly. I nearly recoiled, but managed to stand my ground.

“Have a good train ride?” He asked, before tugging my trunk from my hand.

“Erm, yes?” I lied.

“You look quite peaky,” my mother noted, taking me in. She swiftly pushed my hair back from my forehead and studied me. “Wouldn’t you say, Amos? Thin, thin as a rail. Come on now, let’s get up to the house. I’ve fixed up dinner, it’s nearly done.”

“A roast,” my father input, as we began to trudge up the hill. “Your favorite.”

Inside his cage, Merlin yowled even louder and rattled even around. I felt similarly rattled; I couldn’t remember a greeting like this, in fact, I was quite sure I’d never received this treatment in my life. How they even knew I liked roast was beyond me.

“Roast?” I probed. “You made a roast.”

“It is still your favorite, isn’t it?” My mother fretted, fixing her scarf and tossing one end over her shoulder. As she spoke, it began to snow lightly, small flakes clinging to the trees and the ends of my hair. “You always requested it as a child. Birthdays, holidays…”

“It is,” I confirmed, concealing a frown.

The house had been done up. There was a fire in the hearth, and a Christmas tree next to my father’s favorite arm chair. The wireless was on, playing Christmas music at a low volume. The table was set, dishes soaring from the kitchen and laying themselves in order as we walked inside. Again, it was much unlike the dark, hollow space where I’d spent the summer.

“Mum this looks so nice,” I said instinctively, shrugging off my coat and stomping my boots on the mat to shake off the snow.

“Oh, well,” she replied, looking quite pleased but keeping her tone breezy. “I’ve had to stay busy.”

A silence fell between us then. What none of us had acknowledged in some time—that maybe the edging pain of Cedric’s death would disappear by staying busy. I looked to the table again and felt a pang in my chest when I saw that his spot was instead filled by a dish of peas. Luckily, before I could ponder on this too long, Merlin cried again, and I bent down to open his cage. He shot off into the house, the pitter patter of his paws loud on the stairs.

“Shall we tuck in, then?” My father posed, setting down my trunk in the living room.

“I’ll just wash up?” I asked, quickly sidestepping into the washroom and shutting the door. I leaned against it for a moment, waiting to hear them make a snide comment about my behavior, but no sound came from beyond the door. I turned on the water and washed my hands, then splashed water onto my face. I looked up, the water running in rivets down my neck, and glanced into the mirror.

I’d begun to look more like Cedric this year than I had before. The youthful fat that had collected below my cheekbones had melted away, leaving them high and proud. My nose had grown straight and sharp, my eyebrows arched gracefully. My eyes—the very same shade of grey that Cedric’s had been, were bright. I’d always thought my mother had drifted around like a ghost after he’d gone, but perhaps it was the opposite; maybe it was impossible to heal with the imagery of their beloved son now filling out on their daughter’s face. Quickly, I dried my face with a hand towel, and went out to join them.

“Come now,” my father hastened me good-naturedly as I took a seat. Without asking, he poured me a glass of red wine, and my mother handed me a basket overflowing with puddings.

“Thank you,” I said, rather hesitantly, still on edge, and slid a pudding onto my plate.

“How’s school?” My mother ventured, waiting until I’d taken a serving of potatoes and smothered them in gravy. “O.W.L. preparations are going well?”

“They’re alright.”

“The highest score you’ve gotten?” My father pressed.

“Erm, the lowest I’ve gotten is an E.”

“Well done,” he praised out loud, spooning quite a lot of peas onto his plate. My nerves were jangling now. No meal had ever dedicated this much time to me. I took a sip of wine to steady myself. “And Quidditch?”

“I…” I trailed off. I’d not told them I made the team. “How did you…?”

“You know that Adrian Pucey’s mother works for me, don’t you? Nice woman. Told me her son had informed her that Logan Diggory had joined the team. And that you’ve been doing quite well, apparently.”

“Why didn’t you mention?” My mother asked, sounding hurt.

“Er…” I took another sip of wine and looked down at the roast beef on my plate. “Didn’t think you’d care.”

There was a beat of silence, and then my father clucked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.

“Didn’t think we’d care.”

“Don’t be silly,” my mother said, cutting into her own meal. “Of course we care.”

I resisted the urge to scream at the top of my lungs. Sitting here, hearing them speak, was quite like waking up in someone else’s body. I’d begun to doubt myself, my surroundings, as they sat here kind and rosy-cheeked. Was this always what it had been like for Cedric? Heaping praise and attention? I’d craved it for so long, wanted so badly to have my accomplishments acknowledged and spoken of, but now I couldn’t say why. It felt…cheap.

“Are you two feeling alright?” I asked, hesitantly, and my father let out a booming laugh.

“Of course. Now.” He leaned forward, bits of potato stuck on the end of his fork, gravy dripping down onto the plate steadily. _Drip, drip, drip._ “I must ask…how are classes with Dolores Umbridge?”

“Oh.” I felt my stomach swoop. I’d not spoken out in her class again, keeping my head down as I studied the text in silence. It was easier to suffer that way, knowing she was a ministry troll who disbelieved my word, than to spend any extra time in detention with her—I supposed. “She’s…a textual fundamentalist.”

“She’s quite favorable with Fudge,” my father continued, watching me closely. “She has his ear about everything that happens at that school.”

“I am sure Logan knows that,” my mother interjected.

“Yeah,” I admitted, spooning gravy into my pudding with a heavy hand. “She’s been given the title of High Inquisitor, runs around making ludicrous rules.” Had I been at school, I would have hammed this up for Hannah or Daphne, imitating her syrupy voice with a ridiculous statement: _Willies must be kept in trousers at all times. Absolutely no nips of drinks in class, though you’ll want to forget every second of mine._

“You’re keeping in line with her,” my father said.

“Is that a question?”

He chewed thoroughly, his eyes not moving from me. My mother set her fork down.

“It’s a command.”

“A command?” I laughed, in disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’re still at school, under the age of seventeen,” he pointed out, and my mother, nervously said:

“This is about your safety.”

“My safety?” _Ten, nine, eight._

“Dolores Umbridge can make your life very difficult. It would be advisable to get on her good side.”

“Her…you can’t be serious. Her good side? The side that contradicts what happened last year?” _Seven, six, five._

“You better not be running around that castle, breaking rules,” my father warned, the warmth evaporating from his tone. “Not with that woman there. You need to tell us, right now, if that’s the case.”

“You haven’t asked me anything about school until this year, and this is your question?” _Four, three, two._

“It’s because we care!” My mother’s voice was balancing on the edge of hysteria.

_One._

“No, you don’t!” I exploded. Red wine sloshed over the edge of my glass, and my fork bent in half. My mother sat back as if I’d slapped her, and my father froze, going red in the face. “You don’t care, you’ve never cared. You just don’t have an outlet now that Cedric is dead—”

“Do not,” my father warned, raising a finger. He was choking to get the words out. “Do not say that.”

“It’s true.” I stood, wiped my mouth with a napkin. “You have never cared about me. It was always very clear to me, growing up, that I was a mistake. I wasn’t Cedric, I couldn’t live up to his standards. I know that. So don’t pretend you care about _me._ You don’t know me, you’ve never tried to. You just lost the one kid you did get to know, and so now you’re forced to spend time with the other one.”

“You are a minor, young lady. Whether or not you think we care, you’re still _under_ our care. And I will not have you messing about at that school, making things dangerous for yourself or for us.”

I laughed, derisively, and my mother shook her hands out nervously.

“As if they weren’t dangerous already?” I shrieked. “Wake up, Dad. Cedric was murdered. You can’t be so blind as to think the biggest threat is Dolores Umbridge, who is in denial of that? You don’t get to make my decisions for me. Not with what’s happening out there. Not when you haven’t cared for the past fifteen years.”

I threw my napkin down on my plate and stalked up the stairs. I could hear the hushed sobs of my mother, my father grumbling as he threw down his silverware. The wireless played on, as if there was nothing wrong in the Diggory household whatsoever.

*

More along the lines of what I’d expected, the rest of break had gone along rather miserably. My father, silently, had refused to apologize or acknowledge anything I’d said at the dinner table that night. My mother tried her best to keep the peace, gloomy and silent as it was, my trying to stuff me full of food. In old habit, at nights I’d sneak into Cedric’s room and sit at his desk, watch snowflakes spin by the window. Out of habit, I found myself writing a letter to Draco every few nights. _I don’t know that I crave my parent’s approval anymore, but the hunger lingers. Maybe I crave the attention of people I think are worthy? Maybe that’s why I want yours, even if it’s not kind. Maybe I think you’ve proven yourself, somehow._ This time, I left them in a stack on Cedric’s desk, knowing they’d be safe there.

Finally, mercifully, it was January 1st, and I was to head back to Hogwarts.

“I’m driving you to the station,” my father said gruffly, sticking his head in my room as I packed up my trunk that morning. The sunlight hadn’t even begun to crawl over the hill yet, and the snow was growing thicker still. “Your mother has a cold.”

“Fine,” I agreed, my voice chilly.

We packed my trunk into the boot of yet another car borrowed from the Ministry, equipped with enchanting steering, and settled in silence as the car took off. For a while, the only sound came from Merlin as he whipped around in his cage, hissing with displeasure.

“I’m not going to ask again, what you’re doing at school,” my father said after a while, looking straight ahead. “I think I’d rather not know.”

“I’d rather not tell you, either.” I picked at a hangnail.

“I just…” my father swallowed quite hard. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“It’s much too late,” he said. “And probably much too little. But what you said when you came home…broke my heart, you did. We care. But we just…”

“I was not what you planned. And I wasn’t what you already had.”

We lapsed back into silence for a while as traffic grew thicker. I picked more deeply at the hangnail and my finger began to bleed.

“We can’t lose you, too.” My father didn’t take his hands off the wheel, but I could hear his voice shaking. “Not after Cedric. That’s why we asked about…We just want to know that you’re safe.”

“Honestly, dad? None of us are.” I felt myself go a bit soft. “Cedric would want me to be safe, too. But he also wouldn’t sit by. And I won’t either.”

“I can’t change that,” my father said, sounding as if he were hoping I’d change my mind.

“Nope,” I replied. And we let that sit, marinate, for the rest of the ride. As we pulled up to the Station, I saw my father wince, and swallow again. As if he were nervous.

“I suppose there’s nothing else to say then except that…I’m proud of you.”

“You’re…what?”

“Quite proud, actually.” He gripped the steering wheel tightly enough that his knuckles grew white. “I know you think we don’t care. But you’ve made top grades and prefect, and you’re a hell of a chaser, from what I hear. And…you seem to have a good head on those shoulders. Solid principles. Like your brother did.”

“I…” I felt as if the wind had been knocked from my lungs. Tears prickled my eyes, so I turned away, looked out the window. Solid Principles. My father’s way of saying that I made the right choices. That I would continue to do so. That I wouldn’t, couldn’t, dare to disappoint him now. Not by fraternizing with a certain white-blonde boy, no matter how much of me leaned towards it. “Thanks, dad.”

“Yes, well. Had to be said. Just be careful. I mean it when I say, now, that Dolores Umbridge is a dangerous woman. Watch out.”

“Okay,” I promised. I saw the desperation swimming in his eyes. Knowing that he saw a bit of pride in me. “I will.”

*

Of course, attending the first D.A. meeting back wasn’t something I’d promised I _wouldn’t_ do. The very first week back, I received a message on the fake galleons Hermione had provided us with. Thursday evening, seven. I ate a quick dinner with Hannah before heading up to the room of requirement. Along the way, we ran into Cho, who looked quite happy to be back indeed. She wore a tartan bow in her neat hair, and nearly skipped alongside of us when she saw us leaving the great hall.

“How was your Christmas, Cho?” I asked. I tried, when I spoke to her, not to notice that she still wore Cedric’s ring on her thumb. Behind us, her perpetually snarling friend Marietta followed us up the stairs.

“Quite nice, thank you. And yours? How was your family?”

“Actually…not bad either.” Ahead of us, Dean Thomas and Ginny left the Gryffindor common room, waving us along with them.

“Did you see the notice board?” She asked the pair of us. “Hogsmeade is reopening on Valentine’s Day.”

“How convenient,” I noted with a roll of my eyes.

Cho went a deep crimson.

“I suppose it might be nice if there was someone to go with.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Ernie to go,” Hannah said, biting down on her lower lip. “Logan, would you care to join?”

“Er, I’ll pass on being the third wheel. I’ll probably stay in the Castle anyway. Much too cold.”

Harry was already waiting in the Room of Requirement, along with Hermione and Ron. I waved when I entered, and Harry waved back, but his eyes went to Cho, who was walking right towards him. Quickly, Hermione tugged Ron aside.

“What’s that about?” Hannah asked, and Harry and Cho moved towards a corner.

I fell silent. I remembered, suddenly, what Harry had told me the year before. How he’d fancied Cho, even when she was with Cedric. And with a twinge of annoyance, I noticed how eager she looked to speak to Harry. As if…well, as if Cedric hadn’t existed at all.

“Hogsmeade on Valentine’s Day, I’d expect.”

“No,” Hannah said, looking horrified. “Harry? Not after…”

“She probably feels quite close to him,” I disengaged, looking up at the ceiling and avoiding her eyes. I tried not to look towards the pair of them, but couldn’t help it. Cho strolled away a few moments later, looking undeniably chuffed. Harry looked quite dazed, but managed to address us quite evenly as the room began to fill.

“Okay, everyone. I thought today we might try something a bit different. Quite a bit more advanced. I’d like everyone to try casting the Patronus charm.”

There was a sudden hush, and then the twins, in unison: “Blimey, Harry.”

“It’s been quite useful to me,” Harry said, modestly. “I’ll need you all to think of your absolutely happiest memory. I don’t mean any happy memory, I mean something completely blissful. The incantation is expecto patronum. Alright? Let’s line up, now. Try it once at a time.”

And we did. Once at a time, someone would step up and try the charm as Harry guided them, speaking clear and calm as he did so. Neville produced a whisp of silver on his third try, earning a respectful grin from Harry. Hannah’s wand shot silver smoke. Hermione seemed to produce something ghostly, and unshapely and then…

“Come on, Logan.” Harry beckoned me forward, and I gripped my wand tightly before extending it forward. With a gentle hand, he adjusted my shoulders, opening them forward. “Your happiest memory. You’ve got it locked up there, haven’t you?”

My mind puttered away, coming up with useless options. Learning to ride a broom, Cedric coming in first in the second task…the day Draco had kissed me the first time. Without even attempting to cast, I knew full well that these wouldn’t work. Darkly, I couldn’t help but wonder if I had enough happy memories to cast one, or even any truly happy memories at all. They all seemed to be tinged with some sort of sadness, now.

“E-Expecto Patronum,” I stuttered. Nothing happened. I cleared my throat, tried again. “Expecto Patronum.” Nothing.

“Breathe a bit,” Harry advised, not taking his eyes off me. “Maybe even close your eyes. Think of your happiest memory.”

I closed my eyes. Bits and pieces of various memories fought to the surface. None of them dominant, none of them clear. I tried, and I tried again, and again. And on it went for a few moments, before Harry touched my arm kindly. Fred was waiting behind me, looking quite impatient.

“Just work on the memories,” Harry told me, quietly. “We can talk about it if you need.”

But as I headed towards the back of the line, avoiding curious and sympathetic eyes, I knew I wouldn’t bring it up. There was nothing to discuss.

*

February arrived, bright and fresh and spirited. Quidditch practices took place on a snowy pitch, with frost biting my hands and cheeks. Draco had civilly ignored me, and Pansy sat in the stands watching and cheering obnoxiously as Draco had practiced. I spent many hours in the library, curled up at my usual desk with my hands cupping a hot mug, staying as far away from the common room as possible.

The letters had gone unmentioned, of course. But I could feel Pansy’s eyes on me in class, at meals, whenever I came across her in the halls. Draco hadn’t looked directly at me since November, truthfully, and I’d become accustomed to a frosty silence that draped the Common Room when I entered. It seemed, finally, that he was truly done with me, as I’d claimed to be done with him.

Of course, I wasn’t. The reminder came neatly tied to an Owl’s leg at lunch on Valentine’s. The Owl I recognized as my parent’s gracefully soared down and landed next to my hand, immediately presenting a parcel tied to one leg and dipping it’s beak in the water next to my plate. I wrinkled my nose with disgust and untied the parcel. Across from me, Daphne watched with dull, tired eyes. She’d been staying up later than usual, working on O.W.L. practice exams to boost her Transfiguration grade.

“What’s that?” She asked.

“Letter from my mum,” I said, recognizing the handwriting across the front. I ripped it open and found a familiar stack of letters inside. The ones I’d left sitting on Cedric’s desk. Immediately, I shoved them into my bag, heat in my cheeks. Daphne eyed me suspiciously as I scanned my mother’s perfunctory letter.

_Logan—I found these sitting in your brother’s room. Don’t worry, I did not read them. Only thought you might need them, since there seems to be so many. Mum._

“What’s that?” She repeated.

“Just…letters from home,” I responded, sweeping my eyes up and down the table. Pansy and Draco were absent. It struck me, then, that almost all the couples in the hall weren’t there—Hannah and Ernie, Harry and Cho, Ginny and Michael Corner. I looked to Daphne again, who looked miserable and red-nosed.

“Where’s Blaise?”

“We broke up last week,” she muttered, picking miserably at her sandwich.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked.

“I tried. But you’re always so busy with studying or Quidditch Practice or your fantastic and mysterious group of new friends that I don’t know how you put up with…Anyway. He told me I’m not a priority with O.W.L.s around the corner.”

“He’s a preening dick,” I told her, shaking my head. “We’re all in the same boat. And come on, you know you can tell me that stuff. Even if I seem busy. You know I’ll make time for you. You’re a priority for me.”

Her eyes lit up just a bit.

“Really?”

“No shit,” I said, seizing her arm reassuringly.

“Want to go into Hogsmeade? I think I fancy some new accessories. Maybe new lipstick. Show him what he’s missing.”

“Oh.” I’d planned on spending the day in the library, far away from the fanciful aura that clouded the rest of the castle. I glanced around the Great Hall, which had been covered with pink lace and sashes. “Yeah, I absolutely do want to do that.”

*

“What do you think of this one?” Daphne asked, pursing her lips. She stood in front of one of the levitating vanity mirrors inside Selene’s Vision, admiring reflection above a vase of daffodils. She’d painted her lips a lovely soft coral that brought out peachy tones in her cheeks.

“It suits you,” I said, picking up a stick of self-drawing eyeliner.

“It’s called the Dementor’s Kiss,” she said, shuddering as she examined the bottom of the tube, before placing it back on the shelf.

“Slightly insensitive,” I said, raising my brows. I walked towards the front of the shop, stopping to admire the bins of butterfly clips that would not stop flapping their wings before glancing outside. Across the street, Pansy was talking to a large group of Slytherin girls. Draco wasn’t in sight. I felt a bloom of happiness in my chest, and I picked up a purple clip, holding it aloft in the palm of my hand.

“That would look good on you,” Daphne spoke out.

“Maybe,” I said, knowing full-well it would. I was about to slide it into my hair and look in the mirror when I saw Blaise. He was slowly maneuvering outside, looking as miserable as Daphne had at breakfast. His eyes were heavy, his usually shining complexion seemed dull. He glanced up and saw me looking, before he stopped. Slowly, he came to the glass and waved. Hesitantly, I waved back. He gestured, mouthed:

_Is she in there?_

I nodded.

_Can you have her come out, please._

“Daph?” I called, and she came to my side. She was holding a goblin-made brush and chattering excitedly.

“…I just lost the one Astoria gave me the other year and oh—”

Blaise tapped on the glass.

_Can you come outside?_

“Go ahead,” I said, when she bit down on her lip. “If you want to. I’ll just…”

“Thanks.” She handed me the brush. “I’ll be no more than five, I swear.”

But I knew as I took the brush that it would be far more than that. I busied myself in front of one of the vanity mirrors, pretending to look at myself. But in the back, I saw Daphne speaking with Blaise, tapping on her open palm, looking quite firm. And Blaise staring at her as if no one else was out there before merely stretching out his arms. Daphne hesitated and then pushed his arms away. Blaise put them back up, and Daphne laughed before walking into them.

I took the items up to the register and paid for them both.

*

Daphne and Blaise decided to celebrate their reconciliation over drinks at the Three Broomsticks. Obligingly, Blaise asked I join them, but raised a haughty brow at me over Daphne’s head. Good naturedly, I refused, telling them I’d only walk with them as far as Zonkos before heading back to the Castle for dinner. I’d just passed Madam Puddifoot’s Teashop when I heard someone call after me.

“Harry,” I said, surprised to see him walking quickly up behind me, hands in his coat pockets. “Where…?”

“Just finished up some…an interview, actually.”

“Oh,” I said, surprised. “I didn’t know you’d…”

“Usually not,” he finished, and we began walking at the same time. “What are you doing here?”

“Hot date,” I joked, but he merely gazed at me. “Erm, no, I just came with Daphne.”

“So, no date?”

“Never, you know that. Aren’t…”

“Aren’t what?”

“I just assumed you’d be here with Cho.” I waved a hand vaguely. It was the wrong thing to say, his face clouded considerably and he bowed his head slightly. “Sorry—I thought she asked, the other week, and…”

“No, she did. We were.” He rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Actually, it was a bit of a disaster.”

“Really?”

“She kept…she wanted to talk about Cedric,” he said, sounding rather desperate. “And I just…”

“No, of course.” I felt a bit guilty now, for my annoyance with her. But I couldn’t help but feel quite sorry for Harry, who seemed to be grappling with his own annoyance. “But you like her, don’t you? You should cut her a break. It’s been hard, I’m sure.”

“That’s the thing.” He sighed as the Castle came sharply into view. “I did for ages. But I think after last year it was just…not right.”

“Really? But you were so…”

“I know. But she…she’s always crying. And I don’t want to be the reason someone’s crying.”

“You’re considerate,” I said. “But if—”

“And I think that I’ve just…maybe I’ve developed feelings for someone else.”

“Oh?” I felt that unwelcome, unfamiliar swoop in my stomach again. Like he was standing too close.

“Yeah, I think. I mean, Logan, do you—”

“Hey, Diggory, on your left!” Millicent Bullstrode ran past me, thundering towards the castle. Behind her was a giggling gaggle of other girls from the house, including Daphne’s younger sister. Trailing up the rear was Pansy, who took just a moment to stick out a solid ankle, knocking me off my balance as she passed. I grabbed Harry’s arm for support, but my schoolbag slid off my shoulder, splitting open on the icy grounds.

“Oi!” Harry shouted after her, as she spun around, grinning, sounding quite angry.

“Oh, just leave it,” I asked, immediately vanishing up spilled ink. I pulled up my books by the spines, careful not to wrinkle the pages as I stacked them in my arms. Harry leaned down and picked up the parcel my mother had sent me, holding it by the twine. I saw his face go quite slack, and I realized that he’d read the name on the front of the envelopes.

“These are for Malfoy?” He asked, loudly.

“I…no.” I grabbed the letters out of his hand, slipping on the ice again. But it was too late. Pansy had heard. I saw her face flush, and then she slipped away, quick as a cat as she ran back towards the castle. I turned to Harry, suddenly aware of how bitterly cold it was, aware of the waning the sunlight. “I have to go. I’ll explain, okay. I’ll…”

“Fine,” he said, coolly, watching me scramble for the rest of me things. “Later.”

“Yes, later,” I confirmed, scooping up quills into arms. And then I ran, focusing on the dot that was a retreating Pansy as the sun climbed lower.


	18. You Still Want Me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone! Just flagging that there is some smutty stuff in this chapter, so if that makes you uncomfortable at all, might skip this Chapter.

I was running so quickly that my breath came in short, jagged gasps in my chest. Pansy, too far ahead now, had disappeared into the shadow of the castle. I could feel my heart pounding in my ears and my throat, felt color high in my cheeks. Tears of panic collected in my eyes. I’d been far too cavalier with this—letting Pansy have any sort of upper hand. When I’d written those letters, I’d reached into my chest and taken my heart out, sunk it into the parchment, and then stood back. And I’d let her pick them up, hold my heart in her hand. She’d crush it now, I was sure, and the ink would run down her hands and arms like my blood. And Draco…

He’d know. He’d hear how I felt, how much I struggled. How every day felt like I was dying a little. How I wanted to be looked at, touched, cared about, how much I craved him; and how every day that I felt that way, my brother remained dead because of his family’s complicity and carelessness. My worst, most horrifying emotions, poured across a secret page, and he’d hear the words or read them at Pansy’s insistence.

“Miss Diggory!” I was so singularly focused that I almost ran directly into Umbridge, skidding to a stop in the Great Hall. She cleared her throat cloyingly, wrinkling her nose with an evil little smirk as I slipped, nearly falling onto my back as the snow melted off my shoes. “Is there an emergency?”

“No,” I lied, my eyes darting around the Grand Staircase. Pansy was nowhere to be seen. 

“Then, what is your rush?”

I fell silent, my breath still staggered and painful. I heard sniggers behind me, and turned to see Crabbe and Goyle, guffawing as they passed. They eyed me as they passed, but I noted that Draco wasn’t with them as they went down to the Dungeons.

“Don’t have one,” I lied again, gritting my teeth.

“Either you’re lying, or you simply have a disregard for the tact of this school. Either way, Miss Diggory, I suggest you straighten yourself out. Five points from Slytherin for flouting school rules.”

“What rules?” I protested, still looking out for Pansy’s figure.

She wrinkled her nose again, and then smiled like she’d caught a fly on her tongue.

“Under Educational Decree Forty-Five, Miss Diggory, you are not acting with proper decorum. And further…not exhibiting proper dress. All shirts must be tucked into skirts.” I looked down, realizing the tail of my shirt had slipped from my waistband. Fuming silently, I tucked it back in as she watched in silence.

“Sorry—” I said, unable to help myself. “Can’t keep up with all of the new rules.”

“Ten points from Slytherin, for cheek and insolence. I suggest you add memorization to your studies.”

“Yeah, I’ll get started on that.” Before she could dock anymore points, I slipped by, carefully taking measured steps towards the Dungeons. But as soon as she was out of sight and sound, I took off again, running so fast the sound of my soles, hard on the stone floors, echoed against the walls and bounded back to me. I halted in front of the Common Room, taking a few deep breaths.

I didn’t know what I’d find. Perhaps nothing, perhaps chaos. Maybe I’d be able to get my letters from Pansy before she could do a thing. Maybe Draco wasn’t even around, maybe...Before I could keep up with the maybes, come up with what ifs, I stopped myself.

“Adder,” I said aloud, my voice slightly shaky. At the mention of the password, the wall split and slid apart to reveal the common room.

It was my worst fear realized. I didn’t even need to step inside. Pansy was holding court in the center of the common room. She stood, proudly and smugly between the couches and near the fireplace, holding my letters aloft in her hand. She dropped one, dramatically, and it fell to the floor, before she began to read another, her voice turning into a hysterical shriek. I saw my classmates gathered around her, sitting on the couches or in chairs or even standing just to hear.

“I can’t stop thinking of what it would be like if I were anyone else and you were anyone else. I don’t know if I’d want you so badly as I do now, but maybe we’d finally have a shot. Maybe I wouldn’t feel so guilty and crushed for caring about you, even a little. I want to hate you so much, Draco—”

“Hah,” someone said aloud. 

It was like involuntary magnetism. I entered the room almost hypnotically at hearing my own words. I could feel my hands shaking, my hand wrapped around the curved handle of my wand. Pansy giggled loudly, and I heard Crabbe and Goyle’s dull laughter. Even Theodore Nott, who I’d never seen crack a smile in the past 5 years, was smirking from his spot in a leather armchair.

“But I can’t,” Pansy continued. “Everything you do should give me license to hate you. You’re cruel and arrogant and at the same time, I know you are just like me. You just want to be seen.”

Everyone seemed thoroughly engrossed. I could hear the crackling of the fireplace as she read, but small whispers and gasps and laughter as she continued. Everyone seemed drawn in, entirely, except one person.

Draco stood back from everyone else, his arms crossed. His face was a pale pink I’d never seen before, and his jaw was tightly set. At the same moment, my eyes found his. Wordlessly, I felt a tear cascade down my cheek. I broke my eyes away and wiped my cheek quickly. I pointed my wand at the letters in her hands.

“Accio,” I murmured. There was a groan from my classmates as the stack soared through the air, slipping through her fingers and landing firmly in my hands. Draco turned away, as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. Pansy looked back and forth between Draco and I, simultaneously gleeful and shaking with rage. Conversations began to break off—people avoiding my gaze and pretending they hadn’t heard. Crabbe and Goyle began shoving each other over one of the letters they’d picked up off the floor. But I knew that despite the show of disinterest, everyone was waiting for the move. For words to be exchanged. I wouldn’t give them that.

I turned on my heel and left.

*

I didn’t know where to go, at first. Dinner had just been served, stragglers were coming in from Hogsmeade and heading straight into the Hall. I couldn’t bear the idea of sitting around anyone, so I climbed the Grand Staircase, wandering without purpose. I passed Luna Lovegood who offered me a soft ‘hello,’ and Terry Boot, who seemed to eye me a bit too perceptively for my liking. I walked into the library, past Madam Pince who went into her office and locked it.

It was blissfully empty and silent. No one had the aching desire to spend their Saturday evening in the stacks, I supposed. I went to my usual spot, tracing my fingers over the initials carved in the desktop. I looked at the stack of letters in my hand, feeling anger tighten in my throat. I threw them down on the desk and pulled my wand, ready to cast bluebell flames and burn them one by one, when someone said:

“Don’t.”

I froze. He’d followed me up here, from the Common Room.

“Why not?” I turned to see Draco, approaching me slowly. He put one foot carefully in front of the other, his eyes on my wand, and I began to sweat.

“I didn’t get to hear all of them.”

“Piss off,” I gasped, color flooding my cheeks. But if he meant it to be cruel, he didn’t smirk or laugh. He didn’t eye me with aggressive anticipation. Instead, he just got closer, and I took an instinctive step back. He paused, and then reached out, tracing a single finger over the envelopes.

“You wrote all of these and never sent them.”

I didn’t answer. My heart was leaping quite hard against my chest, as if fighting to escape. He picked up the letters then, sifting through them.

“There’s so many.”

“I had a lot to say.”

“But not now?”

I shrugged. “You didn’t hear all of them but you heard most of it.”

“Most of it,” he repeated. “You want to confirm that? Not sure you saw the whole show.”

“Please don’t,” I murmured. “Please don’t embarrass me like this. Isn’t it enough, what Pansy’s done?”

“Who said I was trying to embarrass you?”

He met my eyes then. The unreadable, slate grey reflected in my own eyes. He held out the envelopes, like an olive branch. I took them into my hands. I didn’t know what he wanted, then. Whether he just wanted to hear someone say his name, or if he did, in fact, intend to humiliate me. But instead, I just wilted, doing what he’d asked.

“I wrote these because I couldn’t say it aloud. After…after Cedric.”

“Couldn’t say what?”

“That I…” I gestured aimlessly. “I can’t ever stop thinking about you. That half of me wants you, and half of me wants to hate you. And that as much as I want you, I feel like I can’t and I shouldn’t. I strike out because I…I don’t want to feel like this. But you’re also the only one who...”

“Gets it,” he finished.

“Gets me,” I corrected.

“It’s funny you say that.” He took a shallow breath. “When we were in our first year, I overheard you talking to your brother about me. And he said I was a bully, that I was raised with views and biases, I think more of myself than others, and…he was wrong. Mostly.”

“Mostly?”

“I don’t think more highly of myself than everyone.” He took another step towards me. His eyes pinned me to the spot, to the floor, and I tilted my head to keep eye contact. “Not you. You’ve never let me, really. You told me I wasn’t the better man, weeks ago.”

“You weren’t, in that moment.”

“And you still want me?”

I felt my breath catch and flutter in my throat before I retorted:

“After hearing all that, every thought I’ve had, do you still want me?”

“Shut up,” he said, rolling his eyes at the delicate command. “Don’t ask things you know the answer to.”

And then he was holding me, my face was in his hands and his forehead was pressed against mine. I grabbed his collar and pulled him against me, my head tilting back and mouth opening as his lips crashed into mine. He said my name, soft and amorous, and I said his, speaking into each other’s mouths, and he pushed me back against the desk. Gently, he put a hand on my knee, and I felt a spark run up and down my leg as he pulled back, glancing down at me.

“Why are you stopping?” I asked, staring at his hand. He paused for a moment, his hair beginning to come loose and fall across his brow. Hungrily, I grabbed his collar again, forcing him to meet my eyes. “Don’t stop now.”

“Say it.” With his other hand, ran his thumb across my lower lip. I didn’t need to ask what he wanted to hear. It was the same thing I wanted to hear.

“I still want you.”

His hand ran up my thigh, and I shivered at the cool metal of his rings on my skin. Slowly, deliberately, his fingers traced along my underwear. I felt a lurch throughout my entire body, like I wanted to pull him closer, and a smile curled over his lips.

“This is a library, Logan,” he said, his fingers travelling upwards. They curled over the top of my underwear, and I let out a small huff of lustful breath. “You’re going to need to be quiet. Can you do that?”

“Give me a reason to be quiet then, won’t you?”

His fingers slipped down beneath the waistband then. Slowly, I felt his middle finger pause as my breathing grew labored, and then he pressed his fingers to me, moving in slow circles as I arched by back and pressed myself into his chest. I couldn’t help it—I let out a small moan in a tone I’d not made before, and his fingers began to move faster, he grabbed my hair with his other hand, and then I felt his fingers tease me as I grew wet.

“Fuck,” he murmured, his lips against my neck, and I closed my eyes and grabbed the back of his neck. He slid a finger inside, and I gasped, hooking my hips forward as he rhythmically slipped his fingers in and out, using a thumb to stimulate me. I felt like all my nerves were rocking and aching and ready to burst at once. I whimpered slightly, wanting more of him still, and he grinned against my neck.

“What was that about needing a reason?” He asked.

“Please,” I managed to say, and he pressed his forehead against mine, his eyes boring into mine. “Please, I…”

“You what?”

“I need…you.”

He understood. Fuck, did he understand. He yanked at my underwear so hard that I heard the seams split open, and when he drew his hand back, he held them, the stark cotton like a trophy as he held his hand aloft. He tossed them aside, and then his hands went to my shirt, his quick fingers prying apart the buttons with practiced ease.

I wanted to blush as he touched my neck, and my breasts, my ribcage. It had happened all so quickly, I hadn’t even had a true moment to process what was happening. No one had ever seen me like this. But before I could grow shy, he was kissing me, his tongue sliding over mine to taste me, and he groaned into my mouth when I grabbed his hips. 

“You want me?” He asked, reaching for my hands and placing them on his belt buckle. “Show me, then.”

I’d always thought of intimacy as something far off, if I thought of it at all. The sort of mysterious cloud of: _it will happen one day._ But I’d never thought much about how to go about it. What I’d do once I got there. But it seemed luckily natural. I slid his belt off, unlooping it and tossing it aside. I reached for him, my hands running along his hips and the dip of his back, before cupping my hand against his crotch. He was stiffened and hard against my hand, and the thought of how much he desired me excited me; I pulled open the top of his shirt and pressed my lips to his collarbone, nipping at the bone with light grazing of my teeth, before he grabbed my hands in one of his.

“I want you,” he affirmed, his other hand travelling down my neck, his fingers grazing my breasts with a light squeeze. I pressed against him, my legs encircling his, and I nodded. “No more of this teasing, not now, not later.”

“Yes,” I agreed, readily. He let go of my hands so I could press them to his face, feeling his cheekbones under my thumbs, his pointed chin rolling into my palm.

“Good girl,” he murmured, pressing his lips into my palm. And then I reached down again, unbuttoning his pants as he slipped off his shirt. I pushed them down, along with his silken underwear, and we froze for a moment, taking in the bareness of each other. He was lovely; his body pale and thin but taut with muscle, and when he touched me, I felt a curious strength under his touch. Like he could break me, but he dared not.

“Logan,” he said, and I touched his face again, running my fingertips down the length of his cheek. I felt my chest swell when he said my name.

“Draco,” I said back, and took his hand, tracing it along my thigh. Wordlessly telling him all I needed to.

He pressed himself against me, his chest and neck hot and he grew harder when I touched him. I rubbed a hand along his cock, watching as he gasped and his eyes closed as his head rolled back. I couldn’t help but tease him a bit, taking his hand in mine so he could feel how wet I’d grown, touching his fingers only along the inside of my thighs. Our breaths synced, then, and we couldn’t take it anymore. At the same second, I rocked my hips forward, and he drove his up, sliding inside me with the full length. I cried out, and he buried his face in my neck, waiting until I kissed him and laid back, my back slick against the desk as he grabbed my hips and pushed further into me.

He met my eyes, and I curled my fingers against his hand, grabbing onto him. He saw me. All of me, just as I saw him.

*

“Are you going to be okay?” He asked. I’d cast a disillusionment charm over the nook, and we lay on the floor. My head rested on his chest, his arm around my shoulders. His fingers traced up and down my forearm, drawing goosebumps up along my skin. 

“I’m good,” I assured him, splaying my hand against his bare chest.

“I mean when we go back downstairs.”

“I know what you meant.” I shrugged. “They can think whatever they want of me. They’re going to no matter what I say or do.”

“You don’t care?”

“I’ve only cared when I think someone is worthy of my respect.” I rolled up, and he placed a hand on my back, his finger tumbling down each notch of my spine. “Like you.”

“It’s still surprising to hear you say that.” He sat up and kissed my shoulder, his lips lingering long against my skin. “You seemed quite torn.”

“I am. But you’re also…I think we are quite similar. And I’d hope I’ve earned your respect.”

“Yes,” he said, quickly. “You infuriate me, but yes.”

“Goes both ways.”

“I am sorry though, about earlier. It can’t have been easy, having everyone hear that.”

“Could be worse.”

“Could it?”

“Probably not,” I said, and he chuckled. “But if the worst thing that happens to me this year is that people know how I feel about you…I’ll take it.”

“About me.” He traced a finger over the freckles on my skin, dotting back and forth between them like he was pointing out constellations in the sky. “What about Potter? You can’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“He’s just my friend. I’ve said that, haven’t I?”

“He doesn’t look at you like that.”

“You jealous, Malfoy?”

“I’d say don’t flatter yourself, but I think my hand has been played.”

Out in the stacks, I heard voices—students beginning to trickle in after dinner. I reached immediately for my shirt, but caught his hand before he could lower it. I pressed my lips to his fingertips.

“You don’t have anything to worry about.”

“You have been longing for me for a while, haven’t you?” He teased, reaching for his own clothes.

“Thought we weren’t teasing each other anymore,” I protested, combing my hair down in the back. He reached down and helped me up before picking up my torn underwear from the floor. I blushed seeing them in his hand, and with a smirk, he tucked them inside his pocket.

“Doesn’t seem like either of us, does it?” He said.

“No,” I admitted. “It doesn’t.”

And then he kissed me again, holding me so close I felt the curtain of peppermint fall over my skin.

“I have something I need to do.” He said, furrowing his brow.

“Are you going to tell me what it is?”

“You’ll know. You’ll hear. Can you do me a favor?”

“What kind of favor?”

“Those letters.” He gestured to them, scattered across the desk and the floor. “Save them. I’ll need them for an ego boost.”

“Awful,” I remarked, but he kissed me before I could finish, cutting me off.

“Later. I’ll see you later?”

“Yes,” I agreed, unable to stop from smiling. I reversed the disillusionment charm. “Later.”

*

“Pssst.” I woke in darkness to see Daphne perched on the end of my bed, her eyes budging and wide in the darkness. The clock on my night table read eight in the morning. She was holding Merlin, who purred into her chest.“Are you up?”

“You can’t be serious.” I rolled over, with sleep-crusted eyes, and saw that Pansy’s bed was empty and roughly made. “I am now, I suppose.”

“You heard then, about what happened,” Daphne said, watching my eyes travel.

“What do you mean heard? I was there.”

“Finally, someone who can give me the details.” She leaned forward. “Did they fight?”

“What are you talking about?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Do you need coffee already? Pansy and Draco. He broke up with her in front of everyone. Gave her detention, too.”

“I…what?”

“Please stop saying what. Come on, I wasn’t here and it’s like everyone’s been sworn to secrecy, no one will tell me a single thing about what happened.”

I fiddled with the edge of my blanket.

“Okay, come to think of it, I could use some coffee.”

“Logan!”

“Okay, shh.” Milicent was still asleep, snoring evenly. “There was an incident. With Draco, Pansy…and me. There’s some stuff I haven’t told you.”

I saw a flicker of hurt in her eyes, and Merlin meowed softly as she stopped petting him.

“What do you mean?”

“Last year. Draco and I briefly…and when I say briefly…we kissed twice. But nothing came of it because it was the night before Cedric died.”

“You kissed?” She repeated, dumbstruck.

“Just..” I smoothed my hair back and rubbed my eyes. “I can’t put it into words—”

“Try,” she commanded, narrowing her eyes.

“Okay, yes, I’m sorry. Look, he just…pissed me off for so long. But he’s also bloody smart and can be infuriatingly sharp. You know?”

“No, he’s a git.”

“Exactly.”

“Ugh,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “Do you guys get off on being gits to each other or something?”

“Do you want me to finish the story or not?” She nodded. “I think I didn’t like him for quite a long time, but I was confused. Like, maybe I liked him but couldn’t quite handle that realization. Anyway. When Cedric died, there were Death Eaters summoned to the Graveyard that night. _His_ inner-circle. Lucius Malfoy is apparently one of those people.”

“Oh,” she faltered.

“Right. I couldn’t bear the idea of it. Knowing his family, where he comes from. It would feel like I’m betraying Cedric’s memory. But I also…I couldn’t stop thinking of him. There’s something about him that draws me in and I just...I don’t want to resist it. I wrote him letters. All summer. Trying to just figure things out for myself, honestly. Saying what I needed to. Never sent them, they’re quite embarrassing. But Pansy found them. I walked into the Common Room last night and she was reading them out loud.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“I’m not. It was…humiliating. In the moment.”

“In the moment?”

“Well…I left. Obviously. Wasn’t going to stick around and watch her read them.”

“Surprised you didn’t hex her. Given that you…”

“Yeah. I know, my anger has been bad lately. But somethings are just so…hurtful and belittling that you can’t muster a fight over it. I didn’t want to give in to reacting. So I left. But Draco followed me out. He heard all of them.”

“And?”

“Erm.” Even in the darkness of the room, I could feel how red my face had turned. “We had sex in the library.”

“You WHAT?” Daphne shrieked. Milient grunted, and we froze for a moment, before she went back to snoring. “Holy shit, holy SHIT. You totally desecrated the library. I am _so_ proud.”

“We didn’t desecrate it, that’s not even—”

“How was it?”

“Oh my god.” I buried my face in my hands.

“It must have been pretty good. Apparently, this is all the detail I have, but he found Pansy in the Great Hall last night and ditched her. Told her she was immature. Didn’t know why he’d assigned her detention but it makes sense now. He was pissed about what she did to you.”

“Well, she humiliated him too, I suppose,” I mused aloud, but tried to hide my smile. The thought of him showing me loyalty, protectiveness even, brought me a strange sense of joy.

“So.” Daphne held Merlin a bit tighter and rested her chin on the top of his head. I scratched him under the chin and he purred happily. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m _furious_ you didn’t tell me. But I suppose…I get it, too. I guess it just matters if you’re happy. Are you? Happy?”

The answer came easily, surprising myself even as I said it. It was like honey on my lips.

“Yes,” I said, simply. “I am.”


	19. Compartmentalizing

It was like having a shadow at all hours and seasons. I didn’t dare cross a line in public yet, didn’t run to him and fling my arms around his neck. Didn’t grab his collar, tip my head back to capture his kiss in front of those we knew before going to class. No, I’d sworn Daphne to secrecy about what had transpired with Draco. But I could feel his eyes on me still, stuck like fly paper, and when we were close, I couldn’t help but gravitate towards him like a planet towards the sun. It felt like a sunlit year had passed in a day’s time.

“Alright, Diggory?” He said my name with a casual tone as he slid into the seat behind me in Defense Against the Dark Arts on Monday afternoon. I could feel his breath stirring my hair as he leaned forward. Daphne, besides me, loyally fought not to pull a face and looked down at her book.

“Yes, thanks.” I turned my head just slightly, and felt his breath linger along my cheek. “And you?”

“Oi, Diggory,” Goyle interrupted, already bubbling with laughter. “You called Draco pretty in one of your letters. _Pretty,_ like…”

“Shut up, Goyle,” Draco interrupted, pulling his upper lip into a snarl. “Thought we agreed those letters weren’t to be discussed. Besides, all things considered, bet no one would pay you the same compliment.”

“But…” Goyle trailed off, looking quite confused at the turn of events. Behind him, Pansy passed him by, very pale. She’d stayed far from my path for the past two days, which was just fine by me. Her eyes were puffy and red, her hair tangled slightly. I watched as she selected a new seat, further away from the rest of us, just behind Blaise and next to Seamus Finnegan.

Not far from Seamus, Harry turned slightly in his seat. I caught his eye unwittingly—I’d been looking forward aimlessly, my eyes falling onto his crop of messy hair just as he turned. I smiled, closed-mouthed and nervous, and flickered my fingers in a small gesture. Harry froze for a moment, and then turned around again. I’d not seen him since Saturday, when I left him stranded in the snow. I’d have to come up with something, tell him something soon—how could I even begin to explain?

I didn’t get to ponder much on it. From over my shoulder, a neatly folded bit of parchment fell into my lap. I picked it up and slid it into the cracked spine of my book, flattening it out across the open page. _My dorm after ten?_ With a slight jerk of my head, I nodded, and then tucked the note into my pocket. It was quite hard to fight the smile that tugged at my lips for the next period.

*

I slipped away from dinner a bit early. The galleon in my pocket had glowed and burned after class with the words: _Tonight, Seven._ I’d left Daphne sitting with Blaise, squabbling over the superiority of mashed or roasted potatoes, and slipped out of the hall behind Hannah and Ernie.

“How have you been, Logan?” Ernie asked as we walked towards the Room of Requirement. Hannah eyed me perceptively, and before I could even open my mouth, Ernie continued: “You look well.”

“Erm, yeah. Excellent, thanks.”

“You’re glowing,” Hannah noted, her eyes narrowing further.

“New moisturizer,” I lied, straightening my tie.

When we arrived at the Room of Requirement, it was already quite full. Harry was chatting animatedly with Fred and George, as Angelina stood close by. I said hello to Ginny and Michael corner, and leaned against the wall next to Dean Thomas.

“Hi, everyone!” Harry said, as Cho narrowly came through the door. She blushed furiously and ducked behind Anthony Goldstein, avoiding his eyes. I looked back to Harry, who appeared not to notice she’d shown at all. “Hope you had a nice Holiday.”

Everyone murmured in polite assent.

“Right. O.W.L.s are getting closer now, and classes with Umbridge are only getting worse, aren’t they? I’d like to practice Patronuses again.”

“I have chocolate!” Hermione said, rather triumphantly, lifting a Honeyduke’s bag over her head. “It may help to boost your spirits, should you have the need.”

“Break off, then. And remember, expecto patronum.”

“I think I’ve nearly got it,” Ernie boasted immediately, as I turned towards him and Hannah. “Thought of my Prefect’s letter. I definitely thought I saw something.”

“Your prefect’s letter?” Hannah repeated, looking quite hard like she was trying not to laugh. “Have you practiced, Logan?” 

“No, I…not until now.”

“Give it a shot,” Ernie said, kindly.

I planted my feet firmly on the floor. I thought, fleetingly, of the words my father had spoken to me as he drove me into London. _I’m proud of you. Quite proud, actually._

“Expect Patronum.” A bit of silver smoke exploded from my wand, but immediately floated away, disappearing into the air. I heard a gasp on the other side of the room, and turned. Hermione had managed to produce a full, corporal Otter that swam through the air.

“That was something, Logan,” Hannah said encouragingly, and I tore my eyes away from Hermione’s patronus.

“Close.” Harry had come up next to me without me even noticing. He glanced over at Hermione and then looked back to me, his mouth set in a straight line. “Nearly.”

“I’m just…struggling with the memory, I think.”

“It needs to be something clear. Something you can envision, down to every sense and bit of your being. You know? Almost like you’re living in it. And something so happy you just…you feel as if you might…”

“Burst?”

“Yeah.” Harry reached out, straightened my elbow so my wand pointed a bit straighter. “Can you think of something that’s made you feel that way?”

I closed my eyes. Thought of Draco’s velvet fingertips on my cheeks, how I didn’t want to move as he grew closer, smelled peppermint and green apple, heard him whisper in my ear: _I want you._ Thought of how he looked at me; his equal, even a competitor, but someone he _desired._ I felt…whole.

“Expecto Patronum.”

From the tip of my wand, a burst of silver emerged; shifting and folding and then:

“My God,” I heard Ron Weasley say out loud. “That’s a dragon, isn’t it?”

In front of my eyes, my Dragon Patronus loomed large, unfurling its wings and hinging open its jaw to emit a stream of silver fire that disappeared into the air. I watched as its tail flicked through the air, unable to muster words. It was, simply, beautiful. Terrifying, but beautiful. Instinctively, I reached out a hand to touch it, but it roared and took flight, flapping around the ceiling of the room before fading away.

“A dragon,” Harry said, looking undeniably impressed. “That’s…”

“Rare.” Hermione had approached, looking tentative. Her otter circled her hips like a halo. “Extremely. I believe a Runsepoor is the rarest form, but…”

“Does it mean something?” I asked her.

“I’ve read that the form of a Patronus shows allegiance, or personality traits. Harry, yours is a Stag. Like your father’s. And my favorite animal is an otter, so I suppose that’s where mine comes from…Can you think of why yours might be a dragon, Logan?”

“No,” I lied, lowering my wand. I met Harry’s eyes, and he flinched, just slightly, but otherwise didn’t look away. “I’ll have to look into it, so I can explain it.”

“Tell me when you figure it out,” he said, looking almost distant, and then turned to help Ginny.

*

“Draco means dragon, doesn’t it?” I burst into his dormitory at ten, not pausing to knock or see if anyone else was around. Draco was lying on his bed, one arm under his head as he looked up at the ceiling, his socked feet tapping back and forth to an invisible rhythm.

“Is that how we’re greeting each other now?” He asked, propping up onto his elbows as I closed the door behind me.

“ _Draco._ The constellation, Draco. It’s a dragon.”

“So you’re obsessed with me, are you?”

“I just…” I paused, looked around the room. It was quite tidy, save for two beds—I had suspicions of who occupied those—and a fire had been lit in the mantle. “Where is everyone?”

“You didn’t think they were invited, did you? Now come on, tell me about the sudden fascination with my name.”

“I was just thinking of Dragons, I suppose.”

“Thinking of Dragons.”

“Yes.”

“See, you’re blushing now. Nostrils are flaring more widely than I’ve ever seen before, you look absolutely ridic—”

I leaned over the side of his bed, laid a hand on his chest, and kissed him. Swiftly, he tugged me down on to the bed next to him, burying a hand in my hair and exhaling raggedly as he drew away to study me.

“Hello,” I said, feeling a bit shy with his eyes upon me.

“That’s a greeting,” he responded, smirking.

“Well I…how else would you like me to greet you?”

“You could get on your knees and call me master, I suppose.”

“Hah,” I said aloud, rolling my eyes. “That will be the day.”

“Shouldn’t be too far off, darling,” he drawled, sitting up and leaning his back against the headboard. His hand lay inches from mine, and I noticed he was tapping a finger in the same way he’d been tapping his feet—rapid and consistent. My eyes fell upon the nightstand and realized the drawer was cracked open; the edge of a letter poked out unassumingly, but I saw a heavy silver crest on the envelope. The same crest emblazoned on the ring he wore.

“Is everything alright?”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“Well, for one, your nose has just started bleeding.”

Indeed, crimson liquid spilled forth from his nose almost as soon as I spoke. His eyes darted towards the nightstand, and I looked away before conjuring a handkerchief and handing it to him, wordlessly. He took it and pressed it to his nose, turning white with mortification.

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“You know that I compartmentalize quite a lot. Gotten pretty good at lying, too.” I narrowed my eyes. “The bleeding nose, however, is a solid tell. What is it?”

Gingerly, I touched my fingers to his. He didn’t immediately draw away, but I saw hesitation in his eyes; like a cornered animal.

“Have you lied to me?” His voice was heartbreakingly soft.

“Yes,” I said, simply. When he raised a brow, I shrugged. “I told you I was done with you, didn’t I? And here we are.”

“Right. Okay.” I waved my wand; ridding him of the bloody handkerchief and disappearing the blood that had stained his hand. “My father is coming to our next Quidditch match.”

“Oh.” I’d forgotten about his father. It seemed a ridiculous thing, to forget the tall, slender man whose son could be his clone; silly to forget the man who Draco strived to impress so much. Even sillier still, to forget the man who’d been complicit in my brother’s murder. But I looked at Draco, still quite pale, not moving his hand out from under mine, and that man seemed so very separate and far away. “And you’re nervous?”

“No.” He spoke too quickly, spitting as he lied. I waited in silence for a moment, until he tipped his head slightly. “A bit. There’s always something to say, some critique.”

I hooked my fingers over his, then. Ran my thumb across the ridge of his knuckles. He looked down as if he was quite surprised I was touching him.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. Your father needs to appreciate you. Perhaps I’m biased. But there’s a lot there. Wicked quidditch player.”

“Not better than Potter.”

“Oh, shut it.” I leaned forward, bumping my nose against his until he looked me in the eyes. The bright slate of his irises gave me a sharp shock down my spine. “You need to appreciate yourself, too. I can’t carry all of the burden.”

“You clearly think I’m quite well off,” he said, the smirk returning to his lips.

“Of course, how else would you have gotten me?”

“I have you, then?”

“No one has me in that way,” I tilted my head, watching with satisfaction as his breath grew stilted. I reached up and touched his hair, ran my fingers through it. Smoothly, his hand ran up the length of my thigh, before coming to a rest on my hip. “I chose you.”

“Yes,” he said, his lips nearly touching mine. “You’d think that. But perhaps I chose you, that day on the Platform.”

“Are we…making this into a power struggle?”

“I don’t know. Are we? Are you mad about it?”

“Fucking hell, I should be. But it’s just so…”

“I know,” he finished. He hooked his arm around my waist and pulled me down next to him, quickly turning so he hovered above me. He leaned down, his breath sweet against my lips as he teased me; growing closer without touching me. I arched my back slightly and raised my arms above my head, refusing to touch him first, refusing to give in. “It’s hot, isn’t it?”

“You stole my words.”

“Anything else you have to say?” He asked, pinning my hands with one of his own. “Anything else about my father, or dragons, anything?”

“No, I suppose not.”

“Good. Because everyone is going to be gone for hours. And the only thing I want to hear is how loudly I’m going to make you moan.”

*

I’d told Harry I would explain, but he hadn’t given me a chance for the rest of the month. No one knew about Draco, not yet, except Daphne. I’d figured that after having bits and pieces of my life put on full, naked display, there were certain things I wanted to keep to myself. Like being wrapped in a sheet next to him, knowing how it felt to have him curl up around me with his hand on my thigh or hip. I’d told no one, Draco had told no one, and yet—

It was like he knew, already. In class, he’d avoided looking at me. I’d hurried out after him in Defense Against the Dark Arts but he’d told me he was late for remedial potions. And then again, before a D.A. meeting, I’d arrived early only to find that he’d entered the Room of Requirement nearly glued to Ron and Hermione, not daring to come near me during the lesson at all.

But then, as I was beating myself up over it, knowing I’d blown him off and lied and I did owe him an explanation for it all—the explanation of his own chilliness landed in my lap.

I was sitting in the Great Hall on a cold March Monday morning, just as the Owl Post arrived. I’d taken a sip of coffee and torn apart a croissant, dusting the crumbs off my fingers, when my parent’s Owl swooped down low over the table. Something heavy and unfamiliar fell into my lap, and I jumped, hitting my knees against the underside of the table.

“Your mum and dad sent you something?” Daphne inquired from across the table, ignoring Blaise who had an arm curled around her shoulders. Hickies the size of galleons bloomed around her neck, and she’d taken to flipping up the collar of her shirt when she couldn’t get them to disappear. A few seats down, Draco, nursing only an orange juice, turned towards me just slightly.

I tore open the parcel. Inside was a copy of The Quibbler. I frowned, unsure of why this had been sent to me—for years and years growing up, only the Prophet had been used in our home. Of course, we’d cancelled the subscription after the events of last year, but the Quibbler was notoriously unreliable and eccentric. The headlines served almost as a long-running community joke: What outlandish thing could the Quibbler publish next?

But today’s copy was different. Harry was on the cover, looking embarrassed and sheepish. Above his photo were the words: Harry Potter Speaks Out—The Truth About He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and the Night I Saw Him Return. I felt my breath catch in my throat. Across the hall, at the Gryffindor table, I saw a flurry of Owls begin to land, saw Harry being crowded by Ron and Hermione and the twins—Luna had crossed the Hall to join them.

“What is it?” Daphne pressed, and Blaise managed to tear himself away from studying her neck and looked to me, too. 

“It’s the Quibbler,” I said aloud, my voice sounding detached and far away. “Erm. Harry gave an interview about Cedric and the night he died and…you know who coming back.”

“The Quibbler? You’re sure?”

“I’m not illiterate, Blaise,” I snorted, holding it up. I scanned the article with quick, discerning eyes. _Portkey…Little Hangleton Graveyard…Murdered Cedric Diggory…Back to his body…Loyal Death Eaters…Lucius Malfoy._

I glanced up and saw Draco, fully staring now. He pushed away his goblet of orange juice with a shaky hand. I’d not spoken aloud, but perhaps I didn’t need to. Whatever expression was on my face now had cause the rest of the table to go quiet.

“I’ll be back.” I stood, the paper gripped tightly in my hand. I felt a sort of torn rage. He’d brought Cedric’s name up. He’d recounted his death for everyone to read. Without even a mention, a clue, to me. Had he asked…I felt a tingle of betrayal.

“Harry.” I stopped abruptly at the Gryffindor table. Luna looked up at me quite dreamily, as if she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen me before. Hermione’s mouth popped slightly open but she remained silent. Harry was the last to look at me, his face positively burning. “What is this?”

“I told you that I’d given an interview,” he said, calmly.

“This is about...you talk about my brother here.”

“Logan, I talk about what happened that night. He’s part of it.”

“You didn’t…ask. You just…” I struggled to find the right words.

“Mr. Potter.” Before I could continue, Umbridge had approached the table. She wore a shit-eating grin that made my stomach flop with anger. She looked to Luna and myself and then back to the table. “Care to explain this commotion? Why have you got all these letters?”

“Is that a crime now?” Fred asked loudly. “Getting mail?”

“Quiet, Mr. Weasley. Well?”

“People have written to me about an interview I’ve done. About what happened last June.”

“What interview?”

Harry, wordlessly, tossed her a copy of The Quibbler. Her beady eyes scanned the cover, and I saw anger crackling in her irises. Her flabby face turned a dangerous hue of purple.

“When did you do this?”

“Last weekend, in Hogsmeade.” 

“How dare you…” she began, drawing herself up. “I have tried again and again to teach you not to tell lies. And you defy me. Fifty points from Gryffindor. And no more Hogsmeade trips for you, Mr. Potter. Miss Diggory, give that here.”

She stretched out a hand for the paper. I found my arm quite heavy, and simply stared back.

“Well?” She demanded, flicking her fingers. “Come now, give it here, girl.”

I looked to Harry, who finally looked at me. I could hear Cedric whispering in my ear.

_Let it go, now. Bigger things to worry about, now that everyone knows. It’s a good thing, I swear._

I slapped the Quibbler down into her open palm, and she tottered away. The table remained relatively quiet, except for a few sniggers here and there.

“You want to talk?” Harry asked me.

“Please,” I said, closing my eyes. Counted backwards, in Cedric’s voice. _Ten, nine, eight…_ He followed me from the Hall, and we took a seat at the stone bench closest to the Grand Staircase. I crossed my legs and then uncrossed them; Harry polished his glasses on his shirt.

“I only did it because of the Prophet,” he said, finally, after a few moments of silence. “I’m sick of it. Can’t imagine you aren’t. People doubting it, tearing down what happened. Demeaning and…”

“Okay.” I shrugged. “I get it. You’re dogged by these comments. I just wish I’d known. It made my stomach jump, to see his name.”

“Cedric’s?” He asked, sharply. “Or Malfoy’s?”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you must think I’m stupid, Logan.”

“Harry, I’ve never—”

“Oh, come on. For a while I thought it was one sided. He was fascinated with you. But it’s a two-way street, isn’t it? I should have seen it earlier. You asked me specifically about Malfoy, that was the person you wanted to know about. It’s because of Draco, isn’t it? You’re in love with him.”

“I don’t…” I trailed off.

“And the letters? All those letters you wrote to him? The ones Pansy had.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me the truth, instead of pretending everything is fine between us.”

“You want the truth?” I felt Cedric’s calmness, his voice, begin to fade. “Fine. Every day that I wake up, I hate myself a bit more. Because you’re right. I do have feelings for him. And I know that his family is responsible for the loss of mine. But I can’t stop how I feel about him, I’ve tried it. So on the one hand, I think of how I am betraying Cedric, and on the other, I want to be with someone I shouldn’t, because god, I’ve lost too much already, and I don’t want to lose anyone else.”

“And you think you won’t?” Harry asked, standing. I stood too, saw his hands shaking. “Just by allying yourself with him, just him, even. You think you won’t lose people because of it? He’s a bully and a dark wizard.”

“He’s someone who was raised differently than you and I—and he needs to be given a choice to show that he’s different than the man who stood in Little Hangleton. You know that.”

“He’s the spitting image of his father.”

“Why are you so insistent that he’s the same?” I asked, fighting my plummeting heart. I’d never desired to disappear quite so much. “No one is a carbon copy of someone else.”

“It’s in his nature, Logan. You’re smarter than this. You’re acting as if you have no choice here, that he’s the only person who wants you.”

“I don’t have a choice!” I exploded. “You can’t choose who you care about. Don’t you understand? I thought you’d know something about that guilt, since you’ve gone with Cho.”

“It’s not about her,” he protested, going red. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “No, we can’t choose things like that. I wish we could, but we don’t. Because if we could choose, I wouldn’t care about you the way I do. I’d choose anyone else.”

“What?” I heard my voice break, and my stomach sank. Harry took a step back and shook his head. “What are you saying right now?”

“It’s not Cho that I’ve been thinking about.”

“No?”

“No.”

He took a step closer, and I stepped back, my back colliding with the stone wall. He paused, and then lowered his gaze to the ground before nodding. I thought of the way he’d asked me, before, if Draco had advanced on me. The way he’d told me he was developing feelings for someone else. That swoop, low in my stomach, had been urging me to face the obvious.

“Draco. You love him.”

“Can’t we just…” I felt an inexplicable panic rising up in me. “Please. Please, understand that I…”

“I’ll never understand or see what you see. But if that’s your choice…” Harry reached out a hand, palm up. I paused for only a moment before I put my hand in his. He squeezed, just once, and then let go. “Can we trust you, still? With the D.A.?”

“Of course you can. I’ve told no one about it—”

“I know. But with him looking over your shoulder…can you keep this from him?”

I thought of the print in the Quibbler. The masked men at the World Cup. Cedric’s cold, unmoving body. Draco asking if I’d lied to him. The look on Umbridge’s face when she spoke to me. 

“Yes.” I nodded, just once. “If I need to, I can.”

“You are going to have to. No matter what you say, Logan, about how you care about him? He’s a snake.”

And before I could say another word, he left, taking the stairs two at a time. I stood alone, in the darkness of the sloping staircase, and wondered how much else I could bear to lose.


	20. Dumbledore's Army

It was true that over the span of my life, I’d become good at lying. I was skilled in twisting my words and my face. I much preferred to be bluntly honest, and often, that truth spilled from my mouth unsolicited. But it didn’t mean I didn’t know _how_ to lie or that I _couldn’t_. In fact, I’d come to find that in some cases, perhaps even most cases that held some emotional weight on my shoulders, lying came easily. _Yes, I’m alright…I don’t miss Ced as much anymore…I’m not stressed about OWLS._

The biggest lie lay on the tip of my tongue when I was around Draco. It was the one lie that took many forms, many different words, and it scorched my mouth when I spoke. I hated telling it, and I feared the power it held. It was, of course, the lie that shrouded the D.A. from view. If he suspected that on the nights I slipped away to _See Hannah, Tutor Hannah, Clear my head for a bit,_ I wasn’t being entirely truthful—he didn’t say.

It happened again in the very beginning of April. It had been about a month since that first night in the library we’d spent together. I felt, most days, that we lived in a bubble of our own; we’d managed to keep things a secret from almost all of those around us. I say _almost,_ because Daphne (disgusted, but loyal), managed not to tell Blaise a thing she knew—surely, he would have told everyone in an instant. And Harry…well, I doubted he’d tell anyone, both out of disgust and pride. It was easier that way, spending my time with Draco alone, focusing on how he made me feel, rather than feeling like I needed to explain or shield myself from prying.

On an April evening, when small white flowers burst into bloom around the castle, we sat by the Lake, our backs pressed against the trunk of the tree I’d claimed years back. Draco was working on Transfiguration, and I on Potions.

“Right,” I said, going over my notes once more. “For this wit-sharpening essay. Mix in Ginger root until lime green, and then two bits of Armadillo skin—”

“Bile,” he corrected, without looking up.

Exasperated and tired, I crossed my quill through the last sentence I’d written. The long O.W.L. hours had me misspelling simple words, forgetting certain ingredients. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world, I was concerned, for me to come out unscathed.

“That’s it,” I said aloud, pressing my hand to my forehead. “I’m going to fail.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“Already am.”

Draco sighed loudly and put aside his work.

“Need a motivator?”

“Please.”

“What if I told you that you’re going to need an ‘O’ in potions to get on to next year’s class?”

“And?”

“Well, I’m going to get one. Pansy will get one. Don’t think she won’t try to take the spot next to me.”

“Evil,” I said, flicking him on the cheek with the end of my quill, but felt a burning sensation in my cheeks.

“Did it work?” He asked lazily, looking back towards his own notes.

“Maybe. We’ll see, won’t we?”

I felt a burning sensation in my pocket. The galleon I’d kept close nearly burned my fingertips as I subtly drew it out and rubbed my finger along the edge. _Tonight, 8 PM._ When Draco looked to see me fiddling with it, I stuck it back in my pocket.

“What’s that?” He asked, nodding.

“Erm, tic,” I lied. “I turn it over in my fingers so I don’t bite my nails anymore.”

“Oh. I hadn’t noticed.” He furrowed his brow, and I followed his gaze. Nearby, Ron and Hermione were walking in a neat pair down towards the Quidditch Pitch. Harry followed, lagging slightly behind. I saw Draco’s eyes narrow at Harry’s back.

We hadn’t discussed the Quibbler since it had come out. Once Umbridge had banned it, I’d not seen a copy, but it was all anyone could talk about. The great Lucius Malfoy, publicly accused of what had long been suspected or even assumed. Draco had drawn into himself, growing dangerously quiet when he heard the name of the magazine, but I’d caught him telling off three third years about quoting it, docking house points from each of them.

“Haven’t seen you two been chatty for quite a moment,” he said rather nastily, his eyes fixed on Harry’s back. “Not Potter’s biggest fan anymore?”

“Are you jealous?” I placed a finger under his chin and turned his gaze towards me. “There’s no reason to be. I’m rather fond of you.”

“Not jealous,” he sniffed, though the frostiness in his tone spoke otherwise. “Just something I noticed. Saint Potter, look at me Potter, no longer hanging around as if begging for scraps…”

“I wasn’t…totally pleased with the article,” I said, dropping my hand. “Using Cedric’s death as a rallying cry of some sort, under the guise of truth. Felt…violating. He had his reasons but at first read it just felt…bad.”

“Wasn’t much of a fan myself,” he sneered.

I paused, deliberating my next words very carefully. I’d heard from Blaise that Lucius had withdrawn largely from public view, though Draco would never admit to it. It did, however, explain his absence from the Quidditch Match that Draco had feared.

“Are you alright?” Are _you_ alright? _Not your family_ , is what I meant to say. Couldn’t give two shits about how Lucius Malfoy was doing. His hand curled, and he flexed his long fingers back and forth.

“Splendid.”

“Come on, don’t be like that.” I closed my book as he avoided my gaze. Carefully, I moved his notes out of his lap, and then straddled his legs. Relenting, he placed a hand on my hip as I ran a thumb across his cheek. “Tell me if something is wrong. It’s how this thing works, us talking to each other.”

“Plenty of other things work,” he said wickedly, and I frowned.

“Tell me,” I pressed.

“What do you want me to say?” He asked, after a moment. His voice rose and fell in pitch, every ounce of usual smugness disappeared. “My mother won’t leave the house, and my father won’t either. Potter is making statements that are dangerous.”

“What do you mean?”

He shook his head, not meeting my eye.

“Implying that someone is a Death Eater, or just outright accusing them is dangerous. For their family.”

“Has someone done something to you? Said something?”

“No. Not yet.”

“I’m not going to let anyone do anything to you,” I said, sounding so fiercely angry I took myself by surprise. Draco cracked a smile at that and squeezed my thigh, as if to say _sure._ “I mean it. Not after…”

“I know,” he finished, so I didn’t have to. He squeezed my thigh again. “Back to potions?”

“Fine,” I relented, climbing off his lap. “But don’t think I’m done getting you to talk about your feelings.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said sarcastically, but planted a rather aggressive kiss on my temple. “But you’re tutoring Hannah later, aren’t you? I’m off the hook this evening.”

“Yes,” I lied, turning my gaze towards the Quidditch Pitch. “You are.”

*

“I want you all to keep in mind that casting a Patronus inside, in a bright room, is quite different than it would be anywhere else,” Harry said, as he traversed the length of the Room of Requirement. I stood between Hannah and Ginny, watching as my Patronus climbed higher into the air, clawing through space. Ginny’s Patronus galloped past Harry’s knees and he jumped back. I grinned, but he didn’t return it, and averted his gaze. I felt color in my cheeks, and Hannah said:

“Well, I can’t even cast one here, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t be such a killjoy,” Cho interrupted, watching her own Patronus—a swan, glide in circles. “They’re so pretty.”

“They’re not supposed to be pretty,” Harry said impatiently. My dragon whooshed down and settled near my waist, flicking its tail around me in a protective circle. “What we need is a boggart or something, that’s how I learned…”

“I’m not sure being scared will help,” Hannah protested, shooting silver vapors from her wand, growing much more frustrated by the moment.

I’d just opened my mouth to reply when the door to the Room of Requirement opened, and then shut again. I didn’t see anyone enter, and I paused, lifting onto my tip-toes. I only realized that it wasn’t a human when I saw the Weasley twins glancing straight down, and then I saw—a house elf sprinting through the room with wide, terrified eyes, and a stack of hats balancing on top of its head.

“Hi Dobby!” Harry began, quite kindly, and then—“What’s wrong?”

“Harry Potter sir, Dobby has come to tell you…but the house elves have been warned not to tell—”

Quickly, the elf dove for the wall as Harry tried to grab it. He missed, and the elf drove his head at the wall as if to punish itself for speaking, but the hats muffled the hit and he bounced off the stone. Hermione whimpered.

“Dobby,” Harry said, grabbing the elf’s tiny arm. “What is it?”

“Harry Potter, sir, she…she…”

“Who is she?” The elf’s eyes widened, and he shook his head. And then, Harry asked in a low voice—“Do you mean Umbridge?”

I felt a chill go through my body. On the spot, my Patronus disappeared, popping out of vision like a wisp of smoke.

“Is she coming?” Harry followed up, sounding horrified. All over the room, the Patronuses people had conjured were disappearing. The elf was trying to hit itself in the face, and Harry seized it’s arms, holding it still.

“Yes, Harry Potter, yes,” the elf burst, large eyes swimming with terrified tears.

Harry straightened up and looked around the room. It was so quiet that a pin could have dropped and sounded like a rocket launch. The hair on the back of my neck stood, and I gripped my wand more tightly—

“What are you waiting for?” Harry bellowed. “Run!”

We all took off at once, scurrying like trapped rats across a kitchen floor. I bumped Zacharias Smith aside as I followed Ginny out of the room, heard Lavender Brown crying out loud with panic as we all spilled into the Hallway. Everyone began to sprint in different directions, and I took off, rounding the corner that would take me closer to the library, I could pretend I was just on my way to study if she caught me, and—

I tripped. Something invisible caught me around the ankle and I tumbled forward, landing hard on my knees and elbows, nearly scraping my chin on the floor. I gasped in surprise and shock, and glanced to my left. Pansy was crouched on the ground, holding her wand aloft. A smug, successful smile crossed her face, and she shouted:

“Draco, wait until you see—”

“Confundus,” I gasped, and the beam of hit her just between the eyes. Pansy revolved on the spot, frowning into the air. She began to walk, almost dreamily, in the opposite direction, as if she hadn’t seen me at all. I scrambled to my feet, panting with rage and terror, as I heard someone scream down the hall. I’d just turned when I saw him.

Frozen beneath a round table that held a Dragon-Shaped vase, his eyes wide but his wand hand steady, was Draco. I took a step back involuntarily, my eyes on the wand in his hand. I heard spells bounding off walls, people running so fast it sounded like horses, but I couldn’t move. I had been exposed, and the fear was no longer of Umbridge, but the raw fear of my own lie that had come back to face me. Draco screwed up his face, and for a moment, I thought he might jinx me as he opened his mouth, and then:

Harry. He’d come through the door last, and Draco hit him with a trip jinx. His face contorted into a smugness for a brief, fleeting moment, until he looked at me again. Something darkened his eyes, and he jerked his head, quickly. Harry groaned, raising his head to meet my eyes. He swiveled his head on his neck between the pair of us, and I could see misguided betrayal blooming in his eyes. It was the same darkness that clouded Draco’s irises.

I did the cowardly thing. I turned my back on the pair of them, and I ran.

*

By Order of the Ministry of Magic

Dolores Umbridge (High Inquisitor) has replaced Albus Dumbledore as Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The Above is in accordance with Educational Decree Number Twenty-Eight

Signed, Cornelius Fudge

*

The new messages had appeared around the school overnight, plastered onto message boards and hung on the walls. I’d spend the night hiding in the library, cowering at my usual desk, aimlessly flipping through random books. I’d not cried yet—the shock and terror of the events from the evening before had kept me quiet. All I could see was Draco’s face as he crouched below that table, and Harry’s, marked with questions of betrayal.

Now, as morning had broken, I stood at the front of the library, watching as Madame Pince pinned this to the notice board. Some of the other library inhabitants stood by, watching with murmurs and sore eyes.

“Logan?” I started; I hadn’t heard anyone approach. One of the younger Creevy brothers had crept up on me, looking concerned. I couldn’t blame him—I must have looked batshit, eyes tired with sleep but my body jittered with nerves. “Sorry, he told me you might be here.”

“Who?”

“Harry, of course. He’s looking for you, but he said you should come to him. In case…” he lowered his voice. “She’s still looking.”

“Where is he?”

“Breakfast, but he said meet him in the courtyard in ten minutes. Should be in a few moments."

That was surprising. I don’t know what I’d expected, but certainly not for things to go back to normal. As if we could all just sit down in the Great Hall and have a meal together. Perhaps it was different for me, than the others. My situation was like an egg on broken glass—holding together but threatening to split at any moment. The only Slytherin, a prefect, the girl whose name was well-known…my parents had worried for me, broached this over the break. And I’d thrown it back at them, defiantly, telling them I wouldn’t listen, I’d risk trouble. And instead, I’d run from it. Run the moment I saw that look in both of their eyes.

“Alright,” I said, taking a deep breath.

He was waiting, in the shade of the Clock Tower outdoors, leaning against the side of the castle. His hair was ragged as it always was, and there were dark purple circles below his eyes. I could still feel my fear sweating out as he turned to face me, and I was prepared to defend myself—

_You know I’d never tell,_ I wanted to start, but I didn’t get a chance.

“Thank god,” Harry said aloud.

“What?” I stuttered, looking around behind me, as if he meant to speak to someone else.

“That you’re okay. I thought for a moment they’d gotten you. We didn’t know how to contact you.”

Blankly, I stared at him. He was standing in front of me, speaking easily, almost as if the panic from the evening before had completely dissipated. As if the memory of Draco tripping him had completely disappeared.

“What?” I repeated, dumbly. He raised a brow.

“Right. You don’t know.” He beckoned me along, and then lead me to a shaded corner, glancing around to make sure we were alone. “Marietta. Cho’s friend. She ratted us out.”

“I thought you…you looked like you thought…”

“That you had?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, Draco being there certainly didn’t quell that notion, for a moment,” Harry said, thoughtfully. “But erm, remember that list of names Hermione took down?”

“Yeah.”

“She jinxed it. When Marietta told…well, you’ll see. She’s marked up pretty nastily.”

“Serves her right.” I felt a trickle of relief tap down across my chest and spine, but not wholly. There were other things I had to worry about. “Did you…I’m sorry I ran.”

“I told you to run. Wouldn’t have done much good if you’d been caught too,” Harry said. “Look, Dumbledore’s gone. Umbridge is on the hunt. I figure she’ll go after you in particular, too, just because you haven’t been afraid to tell her to shove it in the past. For now, it’s better if we’re…quiet. We don’t meet, or talk.”

“But…”

“She’ll expel us.” He said this simply, with a nod.

“I hate her,” I spat. “She’s twisted, absolutely…”

“I know,” Harry reassured me. “But until Dumbledore’s back, I don’t quite fancy anyone getting the boot. I just wanted to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m not harmed. Not physically. I did confund Pansy. And Draco saw me, so not sure what I’m in for.”

“Probably not much. Dumbledore took the fall for us. She can’t do much about that, she wrote the rules and he found a loophole. We’re making it out alright.”

“I wasn’t really thinking of Umbridge on that front.”

Draco’s grey irises, darkening when he saw me. The sureness of his wand hand. _It’s how this thing works, us talking to each other,_ I’d told him, hours before.

“Yeah, well,” Harry said, sounding bitter. “He was certainly after me, not you. Proud of his catch too. Fifty points added to your house’s standing.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, pressing my hands to my cheeks. “None of it, I didn’t...I’d told him earlier I was tutoring Hannah and I wouldn’t see him until later, so to see him there…I just…I won’t say I feel betrayed or even surprised. I know you wouldn’t let me say that, you’ve told me.”

“No, that would be something Hermione would do. Not me.”

“Yeah, well.” I looked back towards the Castle. “I’m not sure where to go from here.”

“Maybe I can help.” Harry licked his lips. “You’re always trying to balance things, aren’t you? Find out who you are, balancing school and your trauma with friendships and Draco. Maybe tip the scales. Don’t be on neutral ground as much. You play it safe, but there’s no reason to anymore, is there? After last night?”

“What do you mean?”

“He saw you, do you think you’ll just…return to normal now?”

“I don’t…” My heart sunk. He was right, of course. How could I go through the doors to the Hall and see Draco? The shame I felt arising from my lie paled in contrast to the realization that he’d aligned himself with Umbridge. “I don’t know. No, I guess.”

“It’s simple, then. Don’t be with him. Don’t split yourself in half trying to balance things out. We’re here for you Logan. Ron, Hermione…”

“You?” I asked, scoffing slightly. He shrugged.

“Yeah, me,” he said, quietly.

“Maybe,” I said, my stomach flipping and bubbling. The bell chimed, signaling the end of breakfast. Classes would begin in fifteen minutes. “I thought you said we shouldn’t talk.”

“Only if you’re trying to hide who you are, to protect yourself,” Harry responded, sleekly. “But you shouldn’t hide yourself. I like you, Logan. Balancing act or not.”

“I’ll have to—”

“Think about it?” He interjected, smiling. “Yeah. I figured you’d say that. I guess until you decide…I’ll just see you around?” 

“Harry.” For a moment, all I could think of was Cedric. How he’d bid me goodbye on the night he’d died. How he said he’d see me later, before…I had the strangest sense of dread. “Be careful?”

“You too,” he said.

*

Without outwardly saying it—everyone knew what had happened the night before. In large part, the rumors of Dumbledore’s disappearance had been exaggerated ( _he’s in Azkaban,_ I heard one girl whisper to another), but the rest had spread like wildfire. It was apparent, from the moment I stepped foot into the Greenhouses, that I’d been publicly implicated. 

Daphne glanced up from her Chinese Chomping Cabbage as I scraped in, one moment late. The spot next to her was taken, today, by Theodore Nott. Her eyes were ringed with reddened puffiness, and when she saw me, she tossed her head and glanced back down. My eyes went to Draco, sandwiched between Crabbe and Goyle. A silver ‘I’ was pinned to the front of his robes. He merely looked through me, as if I were a ghost, and then picked up a dagger, severing off the top of his cabbage as it nipped at his fingers. My eyes prickling, I squeezed in next to Hannah and Ernie.

“You alright, then?” Hannah gasped as I arrived.

“Where did you go?” Ernie whispered, as I tugged a pot towards myself. “We all—”

“Shhh.” I said, glancing around. “We’ll talk later.”

But in truth, I’d never wanted to talk less. All I favored now was silence and sleep. A long sleep that wiped all anxiety from my brow and consciousness.

*

I followed Hannah and Ernie from the Greenhouse as the rest of my house swept by, largely ignoring me. Milicent shot me a dirty look, and Goyle let out a slow hiss of:

“Traitor.”

Hannah and Ernie exchanged glances, and Hannah put an arm around my shoulders as Draco passed by, his head held high and his chin pointed forward.

“Sit with us for lunch,” she said kindly, and Ernie nodded in agreement. “Please, we want you to.”

“Taking pity on the outcast, huh?” I said, but nodded as I grabbed my bag. “Sure.”

“No, I know you’d never let us do that.”

As I sat down at the Hufflepuff table, I glanced across the Hall. Harry was absent from the Gryffindor table, but I saw Ron, Hermione, and Ginny huddled close together, with Seamus and Dean too. At the Ravenclaw table, Cho, looking quite miserable, had distanced herself from Anthony and Michael Corner. Justin Finch-Fletchley sat down with us and grabbed an orange, eyeing me with interest.

“Sitting with us today?” He asked pleasantly. “Wondered how you’d make it out after last night, seeing as most of your house seemed to be there.”

“Yet to be seen,” I replied, picking apart a sandwich. “Haven’t been back to the dormitory.”

“Where did you go?” Hannah asked, horrified.

“Library.”

“All night?”

“Yes. I…” I dropped my voice. “I hexed Pansy. And Draco saw me.”

“Well, they couldn’t prove we were actually meeting,” Ernie said, pompously. “It wasn’t an organizational meeting, so it’s not like you can get into trouble…”

“Uh, for hexing a classmate, though?” Justin asked, and Hannah rolled her eyes. “Might be an issue.”

“I heard this morning that Pansy was sent to the Hospital Wing last night with a headache,” Hannah said, rather lightly. She popped a chip into her mouth and chewed. “Can’t remember anything, apparently. Someone confunded her.”

“Blimey, Logan,” Ernie said, sounding impressed. “That’s NEWT level.”

“It was in one of Cedric’s old books,” I murmured. They all looked at me rather sharply, and then back to their food. I’d just taken a spoonful of peas when—

BANG.

The floor above seemed to reverberate. Dust shook down from the ceiling. On instinct, I rose from my seat, clutching my wand. Hannah did the same.

BANG.

There it was, again. Like a loud popping, coming from somewhere in the castle. I glanced at the Gryffindor table, and saw, inexplicably, Ron begin to laugh. At the Slytherin table, Draco wore a mask of confusion.

BANG.

Out in the Grand Staircase, a shriek. I knew, at once, who it was. Umbridge. Hannah and I exchange a moment’s glance and then dashed out of the Hall, funneling into the channel of people fighting their way out. Someone had lit a spectacular amount of fireworks in the Castle. Dragons made up of fiery sparks flew violently through the air, wheels of fire that were Hannah’s height spun and dipped overhead, stars of every color bounced off the walls and ricocheted back and forth. Younger students began to scream, and Umbridge began to try to curse the fireworks. It seemed not to cause them to fade, but rather, re-invigorated them, causing them to move faster and let out loud, unstopping shrieks. One of them exploded so forcefully it punctured a hole in a portrait.

“Cheers,” Ernie said, and I began to laugh for the first time in what felt like ages.


	21. The Admission

The fireworks continued throughout the entire day. Wheeling and dipping through the air with loud whirs and bangs and trails of sparks and flame. I could tell that, despite their disruption, not all Professors seemed to mind.

“Oh dear,” Professor McGonagall said, lazily, as one of the escaped Catherine wheels plowed through our Transfiguration class, knocking aside books. “Miss Brown, will you run and ask our Headmistress to come and take care of the escaped firework?”

A few of the Gryffindors snickered out loud. From my seat, I could see Draco across the classroom. The ‘I’ on his robes was polished and shiny, and he seemed to glower. One of the fireworks exploded over his head, and he snapped his book shut, positively snarling now. He didn’t glance my way. I swung my gaze onto Daphne, who’d moved a desk over and up so she could sit next to Blaise. If she felt me staring, she didn’t acknowledge it, but instead seemed fascinated by how much she could dip her quill into the ink pot at the corner of her desk.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of a displaced and chaotic class period, Daphne stood very quickly, still avoiding my gaze. She tugged on Blaise, who swung an arm around her shoulders almost protectively as I stood, too. He looked back at me and shook his head, twice, as if to warn me: _don’t even try it._ I felt my skin grow cold and my palms began to sweat as I packed away my things. When I bowed my head to catch a glimpse of Draco’s desk, he was gone.

“Hey, Logan,” Seamus greeted as he passed me by. Dean nodded, and as Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown passed, they offered me small smiles. My own house cleared out quickly, no one stopping to cast me a second glance. Harry, Ron, and Hermione all stuck together as they gathered up their own books.

I was the last person to exit the classroom. I felt undeniably beaten down. The thought of returning to Slytherin, my home for the past five years seemed difficult. Silent treatment wouldn’t be an issue when it emanated from Pansy, or Milicent, or truly any of the boys in my House; but when it came to sitting in silence in my room, being ignored by Daphne or Draco…I bowed my head, touching my chin to the tops of my books. I’d brought it on myself.

I’d just begun to walk down the Hallway aimlessly, when someone grabbed my arm. I didn’t even get a chance to yelp in response before they’d begun to tug me up the flight of stairs that lead to the Astronomy Tower—away from the eyes and ears of the Sixth years leaving Defense Against the Dark Arts. I nearly tripped on the stairs, the hand steadily pulling me upwards, when I saw, finally, that it was Draco, leading me up and away from everyone else.

“Hey,” I managed to get out, my mouth dry. “That hurts.”

“Walk faster,” he hissed, as the staircase began to curl into a spiral.

When we’d climbed up far enough to his satisfaction, when the noises of the floors below us seemed to drift and fade away, he stopped, turning to face me. His face was pink and his jaw locked.

“Draco, I—”

Before I could get out a word, he was kissing me, his hands firmly cupped around the small of my back as he tugged me in. My eyes fluttered closed and with my surprise, I melted into him, laying my hands against his chest as he pulled me as close as he could without toppling over.

“No one saw you, did they?”

It was the first thing he asked, as he stopped kissing me. His eyes darted all over my face, as if checking to inspect that I wasn’t broken.

“Just now?”

“Last night,” he demanded.

“You, you did.”

“Anyone else?”

“Pansy, but you knew that, didn’t you? She called out for you.”

“You hit her with a jinx, as far as I know, she woke up in the Hospital Wing this morning thinking it was 1989.”

“So you’re not…” I grabbed his shirt, feeling the inexplicable tug of tears at my eyes. “You’re not mad.”

“Oh, I’m furious,” he said, removing my grasp on him. “You’ve been lying for months.”

“Well,” I said carefully. “You never asked, explicitly. I’m mad too, you know.”

“You’re mad at me?”

“Yeah, what the hell is this?” I flicked the polished ‘I’ on his robes.

“Umbridge has selected a few of us who she thinks will be…of service to the school.”

“Ugh.” I shuddered, pulling back from him. I sunk down onto the stairs, and he leaned against the hand rail, tapping his rings rhythmically against the wood. _Tap, tap, tap._ “How can you accept that? Knowing who she is, what she’s said…”

He paused for a long moment. “My family isn’t exactly on steady footing right now. A lot of people read Potter’s little interview and saw my father’s name. Whatever I can do to just…keep things afloat.”

“Afloat?” I demanded. “You’re a student, that’s not your job.”

“Isn’t that the same argument you’d make for yourself though? That after Cedric’s death, you’ve been doing…this…to stay afloat?”

Silence fell between us again, swelling and pushing against both of us. He looked down at his feet, and then hesitantly crouched down next to me.

“I need this. Any good word with the Ministry, anything to help.”

“Is that because you want to help?” I raised my eyes. “Or because you know your father has committed his sins and you’re trying to bury that?”

“Do not,” he began, in a low voice. “Do not say that.”

“You’re acting as if you have no choice,” I said, grabbing onto his hand. He didn’t immediately flinch away from my touch, and I curled my fingers around his. “You do, you know. Just because things have happened in your family, it doesn’t mean you have to—”

“Logan, you’re a hypocrite. You’re also acting like you have no choice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“As if you were being forced to join Potter’s merry little band of misfits,” he sneered. “Like you didn’t join up on your own accord.”

“You expect me just to sit by? After—”

“Yeah, after Cedric was killed. I’ve heard it before.”

It was like he’d slapped me, then. I withdrew my hand, and he shook his head.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“You wouldn’t have said it if you hadn’t thought about it before.”

“What I’m trying to say is that you got mad at Potter for using Cedric’s death as some sort of symbol, didn’t you? And you’re doing the same thing, Logan. You’re risking expulsion, maybe something worse…what happened to using logic? You always did that, always balancing things out, trying to rationalize them.”

“That time has passed,” I told him, picking at a hangnail. It began to bleed, and I pressed my fingertip hard against it to stop the free flow of blood. “You’re right, I always have tried to balance things out. Even now, when it’s been hard and just…against the laws of nature, really. And I can’t do that anymore.” 

“So that means…what?”

“It means that I am wholly allied with anyone who fights Umbridge, who fights you-know-who. And if you’re complicit, then I guess I am against you.”

He didn’t respond right away.

“Please,” I said, softening my tone. I put a finger under his chin, pulling his gaze to me. “I know you better than what you’re saying. I know you think she’s vile, you haven’t cracked that textbook once all year. And I know you’re scared for what’s out there, including _him._ I saw it on your face the night...just, join me. Fight alongside me.”

“What if you didn’t fight?” He asked. “Just—”

“I won’t be complicit. I won’t.”

“And I don’t have a choice. You don’t know the half of it.”

He wrapped a hand tightly around mine, then.

“Tell me,” I said, my voice wavering. “We’ll figure it out, we’ll come up with something, some solution so you and your family can be secure.”

“Logan,” he interrupted, in a low voice. He shook his head. “You always want to fight, don’t you? Doesn’t matter if it’s for or against something, you just want to know you’re part of the fight.”

“When it matters.”

He ran a thumb over my bottom lip, his eyebrows sloping up dramatically and his eyes growing soft. When he spoke, I could barely hear him, even though his lips were close to my ear.

“I think we’re at a stalemate here.”

“So that’s it? You ally with Umbridge and I with—”

“Don’t say his name.”

“We just end it?”

“You were the one who said you’re against me.”

“Ideologically. But I…” I cocked my head. I’d always been against him like that. All those years, thinking he disliked me, looked down on me. Ideologically pitted against one another. But knowing that he’d been raised one way, and that somewhere, beneath that, he had a little bit of curiosity and softness that attracted him to me in the first place. He’d be changed, if he would just allow it. But as I looked at him now, I saw something twitching inside of him. Like he was trying to steel himself and remain assured of his decision. I knew, full well, that the shadow of family had crossed over him and was shading his own views. It was the same shadow that had inhibited me for so long. “I guess it is the end, then.”

“I am…” he didn’t say sorry. I knew he wouldn’t. Would have taken a wrench to get those words off his tongue. The tears that had tugged at me earlier held their ground, welling in my eyes and blurring my vision as I blinked. I stood, and he remained, sitting on the stair with his hands extended still, holding the space where I’d been sitting the moment before. He’d never looked quite so small. I leaned down, pressed a hand to his cheek one last time.

I said it before I could stop myself. It flew out of my mouth like a caged bird set free.

“I think I loved you.”

And then, I dropped my hand away. Draco’s jaw slackened, and he screwed up his face as if he were in pain. I turned on my heel and took the stairs two at a time, wishing I were anywhere but Hogwarts.

*

Despite all the events, all the chaos of the weeks that passed, mundane tasks remained. Spring came with sun and heavy rain, classes plowed forward. My career advice meeting with Snape seemed out of place, even ridiculous after everything. But still, I found myself in his office during a free period, sitting across from him and trying not to focus on the jars that decorated the walls behind him, containing free floating ingredients.

“So,” he drawled, looking down at my transcript. “Have you had a chance to look at all the materials that have been distributed to students?”

“Yes,” I said, looking down at my hands. I had managed to snatch them out from Milicent Bulstrode’s nose at breakfast the other morning, stacking as many pamphlets as I could in my hands. They advertised Banking and Curse-Breaking and teaching. But the one I’d saved was the plum-colored brochure for Wizengamot.

“You have excellent marks,” he noted, with some displeasure. “The best in the house. You have any pick of career.”

“Well I…there’s one in particular. I’d not like to be part of Wizengamot as a council member but as a barrister.”

“A barrister?” He almost sneered. “Miss Diggory, you do realize that barristers are often hired to help uphold the law, not break it?”

“I’m a prefect, isn’t that arguably the same thing? Besides, as long as the law is fair and legitimate, I shouldn’t have a problem with that.”

Snape looked at me over the curve of his hooked nose. He didn’t say anything for a moment, but shuffled through my papers.

“It would be my advice, then, that you do well to avoid incurring the displeasure Dolores Umbridge. She is, after all, a member of Wizengamot, and she has, on occasion, mentioned to me personally that you flout her authority.”

“Like I said, I respect a fair and legitimate authority.”

“That, there, is precisely what I am talking about.” He sighed deeply, but then turned his beady eyes back to my transcript. “Fine, then. If that is what you choose to pursue, and you make top grades in your O.W.L., you should easily follow that path. You’ll need top grades in Transfiguration, Charms, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Arithmacy. You must continue with Herbology and History of Magic, but you may elect to take Muggle Studies in addition to or in place of Ancient Runes. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Professor.” He rolled up, quite tightly, a piece of parchment that he’d been scribbling upon. He handed it to me forcefully, and then dismissed me from his office with an odious _good bye, Miss Diggory._

I was stuffing the parchment back into my book bag, carrying out into the hall without glancing up, when I ran right into someone.

“I am so—oh.”

Daphne was standing outside the door, looking quite put out as she fixed her fringe. She glanced over my shoulder at Snape’s ajar office door.

“Sorry,” I finished, stepping back. I’d scuffed her shoe with mine.

“You never look where you’re going,” she complained, looking down at her shoe. I was surprised she spoke at all; she’d not said a word to me after the fiasco of Dumbledore’s army. Whatever she’d found out had been the last straw. She’d given me the silent treatment for weeks now, even as I approached her at meals, after classes, bombarded her with notes and peppered an indifferent Blaise with pleas to have her hear me out. Instead, she was largely absent from our dormitory, and when she did appear, she simply crawled into bed and turned her back on me entirely.

“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “Will you let me fix it?”

“Scourgify,” she said instead, pointing her wand at the tip of her shoe. “I’m perfectly capable Logan.”

“Well, it was my doing.”

“Shocking,” she said, her tone dripping in acid. She glanced at the door again, adjusted her fringe. She was nervous, I could feel it rolling off her in waves.

“You have your career meeting?”

“Still smart as a whip, I see.”

“Daph…I…”

“What?” She demanded, raising a brow. “You know that I know. Everyone knows about that list of students. Dumbledore’s Army. What a stupid name.”

“It’s not like I picked it.”

“Oh, well that was really my issue with the whole thing,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“You’re mad I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m mad you keep secrets, Logan. Aren’t I supposed to be a trustworthy friend?”

“You are! You’ve always had my back.”

“So why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice crackled. “About that, about Draco?”

“Because it’s not easy for me. Those things are—”

“Give me a break. Do you ever think of anyone else? Or is your vision that obscured? Everything, always, is about you, and how you’re feeling.”

“Hey, that’s not fair.”

“No, it’s not.” She took a step back and scoffed. “Try and talk to me again when you figure out things. Hope it’s easier on you.”

“Miss Greengrass!” Snape appeared at the office door, looking furious. I reckoned that if it hadn’t been two gossiping girls in front of him, but rather, Crabbe and Goyle, he would have wacked us both with the book of transcripts he held in his hand. “I have been calling for you. Is Miss Diggory saying anything of particular importance to hold you up?”

“No,” Daphne said, shaking back her shoulders. “She’s not.”

*

OWLS were upon us. Everyone had completely lost it, but at the same time, that seemed to make sense. I spotted Blaise crying (just once!) in the common room after hours. Hannah claimed her hair was falling out. Hermione Granger had stopped by my desk in the library to compare notes on locomotor charms, with shaking hands.

Charms was first. We were lead into the Great Hall, where we were to take the written exam. I was let in around the same time as Crabbe, and took a desk near the front of the room that had my name assigned to it. When I peered ‘round, I saw familiar faces, but none of which offered comfort. Crabbe was sweating like a pig, and a few seats back, Seamus was swearing under his breath. I saw Malfoy enter the hall, looking rather pale, and when he saw me looking, he nodded quite briefly before taking a seat. I turned back around, my stomach churning.

Turns out, I didn’t need to worry. The very first question asked for the incantation and wand movement used to make things fly…

*

It was the practical exam for Defense Against the Dark Arts that fell on a Thursday. Umbridge had stationed herself at the doors to the entrance room, like a stout soldier, watching all of us perform. I was ushered in alongside Crabbe, Michael Corner, and Fay Dunbar. I was seated across from an elderly man with great tufts of white hair that looked like spun sugar.

“Diggory,” he said, looking down at his papers. He frowned. “That name is quite familiar.”

“My father works for the Ministry.”

Realization dawned over him, and he seemed to withdraw just slightly. Rather embarrassed, he said:

“I believe your brother was one of my examinees. Quite a talented boy, he was.”

“Oh.” All week, my nerves had remained steady. I’d not doubted that I was to score less than an ‘E’ on every exam. But now, at that very mention…it gave me pause. To think of him here, in this room. He’d scored an ‘O’ in almost every subject. He’d talked about going into Banking. He’d thought of…

“Right, well. Shall we begin?”

It had thrown me off, the mention of him. I mixed up a counter-jinx and one curse. But I was able to produce powerfully what I could. I couldn’t see what the examiner was marking, but there were no exclamations or surprise or raised brows. He remained quite constant.

“Thank you, Miss Diggory,” he said, once he’d asked me to complete a freezing spell. “Do you have any other curses, spells, or jinxes you’d like to perform for an extra point?”

“Erm, yes.” I mustered a deep breath. “I can perform a Patronus Charm.”

Crabbe, a few seats down, turned to look at me with an incredulous expression on his face. He dropped his wand to the floor, and I smothered the urge to smirk.

“Well, by all means,” my examiner said, raising an arm.

“I’ll stand, if you don’t mind.” I pushed back my chair, and raised my arm aloft. I could see Umbridge, from the corner of my eye, holding a clipboard. Her mouth was pursed as she watched me, and instinctively, I closed my eyes. I thought of him, as I’d done before and as I’d continue to do. _Draco._ Blonde hair and silver rings, the way he looked at me with fire, his lips on my skin. _I think I loved you._ But how the feelings buried under my skin were stronger, more truthful. I loved him, still did. “Expecto Patronum.”

And as I’d expected, a dragon tipped out from the end of my wand, hinging it’s jaw wide and breathing out a silver stream of fire that extended past Crabbe’s shoulder. Crabbe dropped his wand again, earning a glare from his examiner. I heard my own begin to applaud, and I glanced over my shoulder. Umbridge couldn’t have looked angrier. But behind her was Daphne, waiting for her spot to open next. She saw the Patronus bloom forth, and I saw a look of recognition in her eyes.

Maybe I hadn’t just redeemed myself on the test.

*

He found me after our last exam. I’d found the dormitory mercifully empty—Daphne was presumably with Blaise, Pansy and Milicent were part of the raucous noises downstairs as my classmates toasted to the end of exams. I slipped upstairs, unnoticed, to lay down. My brain felt has if it had been completely wrung dry by the events of the week. I turned over the galleon Hermione had made in my hand, flipping it through my fingers rhythmically, feeling myself begin to drift. That is, until there came a knock at the door. I sighed, and put down the galleon before hauling myself off my bed and opening the door.

A timid looking second year was standing there, peering around me into the empty room.

“Erm, yes?”

“I’m sorry, I’m supposed to pass along a message? Draco Malfoy asked me to.”

I tensed up.

“Okay, well, what is it?”

“He asked if you would go to his dormitory. And he said if you say no, to say please.”

“I didn’t say no,” I grumbled. “Did he say why?”

“No.”

Downstairs, I heard cheers that seemed to indicate Crabbe and Goyle were shotgunning a rather large amount of butterbeer.

“Fine,” I said. “You should go back to your dormitory now.”

I reached for my cardigan, pulling it around my shoulders and closing the door behind me. I crossed staircases, looking down over the edge of the Balcony at the rest of the common room. It was absolute chaos. I could see Pansy laughing manically with a group of Sixth Year girls. I shook my head and climbed the stairs to the boy’s dormitory. I paused outside the door.

I hadn’t spoken to him after that day in the stairwell. I’d seen him in exams, head down, quill moving furiously over the parchment. Saw the dark circles on his pale skin at meals. He’d looked at me, once, held eye contact. But he didn’t say a word, and either did I. I didn’t know what was left to say. But clearly, there was something he’d held back.

I knocked.

“Come in.”

I opened the door enough to allow myself inside, and shut it behind me. He was standing at the end of his bed, still wearing his shirt and tie even after exams. He looked rather frazzled, as frazzled as he allowed himself to look. His eyes were slightly wide, and when he saw me, he let out a slow, long, exhale.

“Are you alright?” I asked, noting the way his hand was shaking.

“I thought, the other week, that you might have just said it out of…I don’t know.”

“What?”

“You told me you loved me. You thought you did.”

“Oh.” I looked down at my own hands. “Yeah, I did say that.”

“But then, a funny thing happened.”

“Are you going to tell me what that thing is?”

He tapped his palm, twice, against his leg, as if steeling himself.

“Crabbe saw what you did in the Defense exam. He let it slip earlier.”

“There was really nothing to let slip, I just thought it might boost—”

“A dragon.”

“Yes. Yeah. My patronus is a dragon.”

“You asked me what my name meant once. You know as well as I do, it means dragon.”

“Well,” I said slowly, panic beginning to slip down my spine. “It’s not necessarily that those things are connected.”

“They are if you love me. I’m asking you right now, to tell me that. If it’s true.”

“What’s the point? We know we can’t do this anymore, right?”

“The point is, Logan, the point is…” he seized my shoulders, but with weakened hands. “You’re right. We’re not going to work right now. We’re on different sides. And I’m not sure I see a way out of it.”

“So why would I…?”

“Because I didn’t want to say it before. I never thought you’d…I didn’t think you would love me. Could love me. Even after you came back, I thought some part of you would never let yourself love me.”

“You…” I grabbed his wrists. “You didn’t want to say _what_ before?”

“I am in love with you, Logan. I think I’ve been in love with you since the first day we met.”

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No, don’t.”

“Don’t what? You got to tell me how you felt but I can’t do the same?”

“It’s killing me!” I exploded, putting a hand to my head. “Can’t you see that? I pulled myself apart for years, split myself in two trying to figure out how I could love you and still be true to myself. And I—”

“I just needed you to know. Needed you to know that I know you do, and I love you back. Okay?” His hands were on me again, and I could feel them shaking still. He was still white as a sheet, even after the exams had ended. Something was off.

“What is it?” I asked, feeling the hair on the back of my neck rise. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong. I swear it.”

“You’re shaking.” I grabbed his hands, holding them steady. He broke away, and looked at a spot over my head. “What is it? I know there’s something going on.”

“Well, it just takes nerve to tell you something like this, that’s all.”

“Draco. Don’t lie to me now.”

“I wouldn’t if it wasn’t important. Even dangerous. You understand, don’t you?”

My blood went cold, and I reached out for him again. This time, he let me touch him. I curled a hand around the back of his neck, forcing him to look at me.

“What is going on?” I asked, for the last time.

“I can’t tell you specifics,” he croaked. “But you need to stay in the dormitory. Please. Even when he calls.”

“Who? When who calls?”

“Logan.” He pressed a hand to my cheek, my jaw fitting into his palm. “For once, can you trust me? I am telling you this because I love you. And after tonight, I swear, I’ll never put you through this again, but please, just…”

“Okay.” I nodded, and felt him relax a little at my word. More emphatically, I said: “I will.”

“Just, go to sleep, if you can. Don’t leave Slytherin.”

“You are scaring me.”

“It’s just that Umbridge is…I don’t want you to get into trouble.”

“Oh. She’s roaming the halls tonight? Well, you don’t need to be scared of that. I won’t go out.”

He gave me a small, closed-mouth smile I couldn’t understand. Terror still lived in his eyes.

“I still care about you, you know. Even if we aren’t…” I trailed off. “If something were wrong, actually wrong, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”

He opened his mouth, when suddenly, the door to the dormitory burst open, nearly separating from the hinges. Crabbe and Goyle were there, along with Pansy. Pansy’s eyes flicked from me to Draco, narrowed and curious. If Crabbe or Goyle noticed me, they didn’t acknowledge the fact.

“Warrington’s just got word,” Goyle said.

“It’s time,” Crabbe added, sounding almost gleeful.

“Draco?” I asked, as he took a step towards them.

“Now,” he commanded, looking back at me. He threw his shoulders back. “You need to go now.”


End file.
